The Shadow Strikers
by BiscuitReloaded
Summary: The epic tale of the Irken Empire's most secretive sect of special operations, an elite squad of 10 highly trained and extremely dangerous individuals whose service has undoubtedly kept the mighty Empire from collapsing...until they are pushed too far.
1. The Mystery of a Lifetime

Planet Irk.

Homeworld of the race of sentient beings known throughout the galaxy and universe alike as the Irken. The Irken, a highly-advanced and intelligent race that has blazed a path of discovery through the rigors of science and military might alike, are something to be refuted and feared.

For millennia, the ideals of war and the psychological makeup of the Irken race hasn't changed. They feel an innate need to continually conquer and control as if it were a part of their very bodies.

In the darkest of times, long before spaceflight had become possible, long before energy-based or projectile weaponry; wars were fought for territory amongst rivaling tribes and clans. They were fought with sharpened blades of metal and matching armor for protection, armies hundreds of thousands strong clashing in a morbid show of brutality. The outcome of these seemingly trivial wars thousands of years prior have made the mighty Irken race what they are in the present.

Upon conquering their own world of Irk, they united, strong and weak, young and old, in a cause that has spurred them for thousands upon thousands of years, conquest of the universe. It first started with the exploration and establishment as a space-faring race. With their own system well within their grasp, the continued to spread, to the peace-loving races of the universe, like a plague.

Out of fear and desperation, some races, such as the Vortians of planet Vort, offered an alliance to stave off being conquered. In fact, it is they who can be thanked for providing the Irken Empire with a more efficiently and deadly means of conquering. The peace kindled between the Irken-Vortian Alliance was soon shattered as the growing hunger of conquest fueled the Irken to turn on their own allies as they branched out even farther in the ominous Operation Impending Doom II.

"Professor?" A hand shot up in the middle of the class room. The cascading tiers placed the middle row above the front, and vice versa for the rear-most, much like an amphitheater. The individual that raised his hand was an Irken, much like his fellow classmates, as well as the instructor. They were in the most prestigious of military training facilities on Irk, after all.

"Yes, Cadet?" The much older and clearly aged Irken spoke, pausing the holographic recording that filled the majority of the space in the classroom for all to see the 3D representation of their species' past for his curious interruption. Ah, the wonders of technology when used for something other than conducting warfare.

"Operation Impeding Doom II…Why haven't we heard of the first one?" He strangely spoke, but minded himself, sticking to the Irken Armada's code of conduct by the book.

He stood at attention when he spoke, his nicely pressed, dark-magenta uniform, and polished boots were all fitting to the standards. It was warming to see that was one thing, after all this time, that wasn't simply forgotten. Order and strict discipline is what kept soldiers in line…and alive.

"Impending Doom II, Cadet," the professor began, standing up from his desk at the front of the room with the aid of a hover-cane. A small sphere rested in his hand, the bottom of it repulsed force to allow him to rest on it. This civilian instructor amongst fresh-faced soldiers was quite weathered, but far from decrepit. He was nothing more than an elderly Irken to the untrained eye. "…was essentially the first Impending Doom carried out once more…minus one inept Invader ruining everything and nearly causing the total collapse of our former Empire."

"The one known as Zim?"

"Yes, that one," he nodded, that name almost synonymous with utter disaster. "Impending Doom II outlined a complete conquest of the entire universe, one system at a time, branching out and using previously conquered worlds and systems as bases of operation for the next campaign. We'll cover all of that in detail later on. All of you need to be knowledgeable of prior events first."

The instructor checked his watch upon his wrist, noticing the time. He looked over his class, numbering a mere 12 young Irken, all currently Cadets in the Armada Academy, located on Irk. From the "enthusiasm" in their faces, it was in everyone's best interest to simply call it a day and dismiss them. They didn't seem to share the same amount of interest in military history of the Irken people as he did.

"That will do it for class today, Cadets, dismissed. We will convene again tomorrow at the usual 0900."

In orderly fashion, the rose from their seats, and marched down the stairs in the center of the room towards the bottom-most level, and out the door, synchronized in step. They continued down the corridor, assured they were well out of sight and hearing.

"Could he be any more boring?" One of them spoke "It's like he's so incredibly boring, he's putting himself to sleep."

"Professor Corr isn't boring," a Cadet right behind him defended, the one who asked the question in the classroom, "you just need to quit making fun of him and pay attention for once."

"What's the matter, DZ? You want to marry him or something?"

DZ, short for "Double-Zero", the two digits at the end of his serial number, countered.

"This isn't supposed to be all fun and games like you think it is, Joker," DZ picked up with Siph's nickname for his rambunctious attitude and being the general clown in their unit. "Intelligence and knowledge is equally important as any military prowess. We are only doomed to repeat the past if unaware of it."

"You can keep all that philosophical…dookie to yourself," Joker huffed, gesturing with his three-fingered hands, "all I need is a plasma rifle and a clear line of fire…bang, they're dead."

"Good luck with that, Siph," another spoke, garnering both Joker and DZ's attention, "ever since the installment of the Irken Republic, war of any kind, peacekeeping missions or otherwise, have been on the lax. That's part of the whole spiel of "change for a brighter future". Why else do you think I pushed for special operations? At least they go off on "reconnaissance" every now and again. We were lucky enough to be selected as the next batch of Honor Guard for the Chancellor. Best of the best, finest examples that the Irken Republic's military training has to offer."

"What good is all that training if we're stuck babysitting some peace-loving old crow of a leader? I'm not speaking out against her rule or anything, but seriously," Joker spat in response. "Digits, you and DZ would make a better couple than him and the professor."

"You're going to find it really hard to talk when I cut your tongue out," Digits warned, more in a joking manner than anything. He earned his nickname for being somewhat of a wizard with technology, numbers and words alike floated around without restraint in his mind. He could plot coordinates, scramble transmissions, and even perform the complex mathematics necessary for interstellar travel…all in his mind. At the very, most rudimentary level, he was a walking calculator.

To say he wasn't as much as a soldier as he was a data-cruncher would be a gross understatement. Well versed in both a technician and a soldier made him very dangerous.

"He cut us early for some reason," DZ spoke up, checking his own standard-issue timepiece on his wrist. "but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to head to the mess hall a few minutes early than usual, right?"

"As long as Sear gent Gis doesn't see us," Digits answered, checking the hall as he said so. Gis had the tendency to show up when least expectant, and it never ended well for them. "besides, it's Vort dogs day."

"That's all I needed to hear," Joker chuckled, patting his squeedly spooch, "my favorite."

The mess hall was much like anything else on base…insanely huge. It had to be to accommodate a majority of the Irken Republic's remaining forces stationed planetside. After the Great Downsizing of all military forces, most of them reside in one of several facilities on Irk. This was one of the larger ones with garrisoned troops numbering well into the several thousands, hardware to match.

As expected, the mess hall was nearly vacant, but Irken soldiers of the Republic were known for being quite punctual. Within the next ten minutes, it would be packed to the brim with the first wave of soldiers ready for "chow time". It seemed like any other normal day, after their Military Science and History class was over with, lunch time, then the rest of the day was spent trying not to die at the hands of Gis' training. The trio of the class sat at their usual table, ready to dig in.

"So what do you think Corr did before he became all old and stuffy?" Joker questioned of his comrades with a mouthful of food. "Seems to me that's all he's ever been, and a turbo nerd at that. I bet he got beat up a bunch in training."

"No matter how old he gets," DZ, once again, came to the defense of their professor out of respect, "he'd probably still be able to take you down a few notches since you're already full of yourself as it is. Professor Corr retired almost a century ago, not long after remnants of the Empire finally became the Republic, he was a military Commander of the Armada after all, so he must have been pretty impressive."

"With all due respect, DZ," Digits spoke as he thumbed through his personal datapad as he ate, scrolling through information, "Professor Corr is well past his prime. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks like he's about to kick the bucket any minute. I won't be the least surprised if he pops his clogs right there in class. I guess it's a good thing that Stitches over there is in class, he's a medic after all."

"He's trained to stabilize battle-inflicted wounds, not change a senior citizen's bedpan." Joker commented with a laugh, getting nothing more than a sigh of semi-resentment from Digits as he shook his head.

"Would you just give him a break, Siph?" DZ asked, the nickname missing from conversation meant business. "I know you don't think he's interesting or anything, but he's doing his job, and we are to learn from his teachings."

"I'm just kidding, but if it's really bothering you that much," Joker dragged out, attempting to apologize. It was difficult from someone as self-centered as he was, so it would suffice.

DZ leaned over to see what his friend was so engrossed in. There was a point at which you can become too engrossed with a passion, and Digits passed that repeatedly, sometimes more than once in a day at that. There were times that it is healthy to simply put the datapad down for a little while.

Standard-issue and used for nearly everything imaginable in terms of information retrieval, access, and the occasional regulation-breaking hacks, it was quite an impressive piece of equipment for its size, very similar to what had been a mainstay in the Armada for many years, only improved over previous generations. Being the technological mastermind, nay, genius that Digits was, he was using it to its fullest extent.

"You need to put that thing down every once and a while," DZ said, watching Digits contently continue to use the device, "what are you looking at over there that's so engrossing?"

"Well, I was curious, so I did a little…snooping," He began, assured their drill instructor was nowhere to be seen. That's all he needed was his C.O. catching him hacking, illegally at that, into the Armada Archives. Being thrown in the brig would be the least of his worries.

"For what?"

"Well…you remember a few weeks back on the first day of class in Military Science and History how Professor Corr introduced himself, said he was retired from the Armada and whatnot?"

"Yeah, so? There's a bunch of civvies on base that used to be in the Armada, that's nothing surprising." DZ pointed out. He did have a point.

"That's just it, he said "Armada", not which one."

Curiosity was peaked as Digits turned his datapad, the holo-projection screen visible by his friends.

"Professor Corr was pretty vague on all that, but I found his service record. It's already throwing up a few suspicious flags for me because there was some pretty tough encryption and security measures on this, not the highest, mind you, but more than there should be for a simple service record."

"So…most special operations soldiers' records are kept secret. Even the Honor Guard, what we're training for, is kept from a majority of the Armada." DZ informed, but still not doubting his friend. "So Corr may have been a soldier, possible Spec. Ops. at one time?"

"Looks that way, but even then, it would be listed as that, no matter how secretive the missions were. The Archives are known for their accuracy, especially back in the PAK days when everything was computer-controlled."

"So what else does it say then?" Joker joined in, curious of what the nearly decrepit Irken of an instructor used to do long before void of youth.

"Well…for starters," Digits began as he keyed more information in, revealing more of the record. "There are noticeable gaps in activity and no mention of deployments or injuries to cause them. In fact, there's a 20 year gap from this recon on the Vortian moon of Praxxus 7 as a Lieutenant during Impending Doom I in the Irken Empire days, and he all of a sudden shows up again as a Commander and drill instructor in the formation of the Irken Republic…Strikes me a bit odd, that and the sudden jump in rank."

"That is a little weird, I have to agree," DZ nodded, thoughts about Corr swirling in his mind as he lulled over many hypothesis. "You dig up anything else?"

"…No way," Digits spoke ominously, drawing his two comrades closer with anticipation. Being the logical one of the bunch only heightened it that much more. When Digits spoke to cause alarm on any scale, it had to be something significant.

His brilliant magenta eyes, much like DZ and Joker's, shone against their emerald skin. DZ's antenna perked as he peered closer, finally coming to the realization that Digits had.

"What, what is it?" Joker nearly demanded, but minded his voice. The mess hall's cavernous, spacious acoustics carried his obnoxiously loud voice rather well, and the soldiers were beginning to file in. "I can't see, what are the two of you getting all worked up over?"

"…I think we should pay Professor Corr a visit after drill today if he's still at the Academy. We have much to discuss."

The three Armada Academy Cadets were outside the classroom door, still in their dirty, scuffed up field equipment from training exercises. Fatigue was clearly set in their faces, but now was as good a time to get the answers they needed on the shocking discovery of their timid instructor who was meek at best.

"DZ, can't this wait until tomorrow, Gis is already ticked off for us going to mess early and worked us like animals today. This will only make things worse if he finds out we aren't in our barracks preparing for lights out." Joker complained, having trouble just holding himself up as it seemed. \

The Irken removed his combat helmet, a dark, metallic gray that matched the color of his uniform, Irken Republic symbols present on the shoulders and helmet. The only difference between the three was DZ had a single gold stripe on his shoulders, signifying squad leader, so he did have some sway over the other two in the command structure.

"Stop whining, this won't take long," He assured, straightening his uniform out as best as he could, caked dirt and mud crumbling to the floor as he did so. "We're just here to ask a couple questions and we'll be on our way, that's all."

With a triplet of knocks on the heavy, metal door, they waited for a response.

"Enter" Corr's aged voice called, but still with enough gusto to be far from withering.

DZ, Digits, and Joker all entered the room after the door pneumatically whisked open, allowing access. The three Irken Cadets stood before Corr's desk at attention, helmets tucked under their right arms.

"I know you're eager to learn, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow for class," Corr politely informed with a chuckle, making it more of a joke than anything.

DZ cleared his throat, trying to find the words.

"…Actually, Sir…we ha-" he began, quickly remembering the code of conduct, "permission to speak freely, Sir?"

"Take a seat, you three," Professor Corr motioned nonchalantly, "I'm not a stickler for that nonsense. I do my job by teaching, you do yours by learning. It's as simple as that. Now, Cadet…" the aged Irken tried to remember his name.

"Ord, Sir, but everyone calls me DZ for Double-Zero, the last two digits of my serial number…Sir." DZ dragged on, almost embarrassed at the mentioning of the nickname he picked up from his fellow Cadets.

Corr simply laughed lightly with a smile, his sunken cheeks accenting it.

"Well…DZ, was it?" Ord nodded, "What's on your mind? I know you're really interested in learning of Irken Military History and Science, but I have a feeling this isn't about that, now is it?"

"No, Sir, it isn't." He respectfully answered. Civilian or not, Corr was a retired soldier, a former Commander at that, so it was still in their best interest to regard him as such, a high ranking officer. "We actually have a few…questions regarding your…service record…Sir."

Corr's expression changed slightly as he sat up straight a little more, something he wasn't used to in his age. Something felt…different about him at that moment. "I'm sure I can answer some questions, I didn't think you three would be interested in an old fossil like me. What do you want to know?"

DZ turned to Digits, holding his hand out for the datapad. Taking a moment, he brought up the service record belonging to one Commander Corr of the Irken Republic, formerly Lt. Corr of the Irken Empire. It didn't matter to tell Corr how and where they got the information, he was aware of Digits' technology prowess, rivaling that of a close friend of his. Had it been long enough to finally let the truth be known?

It had been a hundred years since the conception of the Republic, and the fall of the tyrannical Empire. A century ago was a universe of chaos and destruction, the Irken race united for a cause of conquest, the last great one, thwarted and the seeds of revolution planted by a select few.

Even for an Irken of nearly two and a half centuries of age, it had been long enough. Cover-ups and hiding the truth from the eyes of those who needed to see it, everyone for that matter. For it was necessary to see the true face, both the good and bad, of what brought about change, and the sacrifices made.

"I'm more than certain that I'm aware of what you're going to ask me of," Corr politely stated, turning his desk workstation off, even going as far as to unplug the power connector to it. Without hesitation, he locked the door to the classroom as well remotely from his desk. He was taking security precautions to avoid any eavesdropping whatsoever. It was then that they realized that Professor Corr was definitely more than he seemed to the eye, and quite a bit more than a simple instructor at the Armada Academy. "but ask away."

Silence enveloped the room as tension soared. Digits finally managed to be the first one to speak in what felt like an eternity as DZ and Joker remained stiff. He promptly cleared his throat, glancing over at the datapad that he had handed to DZ, making sure he was aware of what he was speaking of.

"Professor…what could you tell us about the Shadow Strikers?"

With a sigh, Corr rose to his feet, cane in his hand as it automatically sensed him standing, activating for a walking aid. He shuffled towards the front of the room behind his desk, looking at the holo-screen that they used periodically for class.

"What I say here…" he finally spoke, garnering their attention, almost startled, "…cannot leave this room, nor will you tell another living soul…not yet, anyway."

The three of them sensed the seriousness in his voice and dared not speak against it.

"The Shadow Strikers…it's a long story," Corr spoke, looking over his shoulder at them, still debating if it was the right thing to do. "but if you have the time to listen…then I have the time to speak."


	2. The Journey Begins

Praxxus 7.

To most of the galaxy, it is simply nothing more than one of several natural sattilites…moons, orbiting the homeworld of the Vortians, the most technologically advanced species of the universe, known anyway, of planet Vort. Large enough to sustain settlement and mining operations for the homeworld, it is a necessity in the Vortian economy.

To the Irken, however…

This was the sight of one of the most humiliating, recent defeats of their prestigious military history. Operation Impending Doom was, well…doomed from the start, all thanks, more blame than anything, on one, insignificant Invader known as Zim.

Indeed Zim's meddling managed to nearly destroy Irk, but Praxxus 7, the first and last campaign of Impending Doom I, failed for that very reason. Reinforcements and supplies, as well as other campaign operation fleets were all destroyed or damaged beyond combat effectiveness, leaving those already planetside on Praxxus…without aid. Even those spared by Zim's destructive swath were busy with clean-up and restoration efforts to keep the rest of the planet from falling into chaos.

Yet, unknown to them at the time, 10 different soldiers of colorful training backgrounds, specializing in their respective fields, would have their destiny made in the conclusion of the Praxxus 7 campaign. Even the one to bring them together hadn't envisioned his life would be forever changed.

Heavy incoming casualties didn't help matters any either. Mortality rate was hovering around 50% on the ground, but deemed "necessary" by field commanders seeing what progress was being made. Intel was horrible due to Vortian scrambling, and a majority of what military complexes were present on the moon were subterranean and unseen on imaging. To top it off, underestimating the military might of the former ally to the Irken Empire was a colossal error on their behalf.

That all didn't matter in the field, all the planning and strategy in the universe wouldn't help. It was all promptly thrown out the window as soon as boots touched the soil and battle became apparent. All that mattered then was surviving, take their lives…or have yours taken.

To Lt. Vult, that was more apparent than anything else in the entire universe.

He lay in the churned-up soil from Vortian shelling only moments prior in a crater, his unit and fellow squadmates in a similar situation at the berms of their respective positions.

The crescendo of battle raged, plasma rounds streaking through the darkened sky, illuminating all that they passed. A barrage of light magenta-pink and teal, white-hot blue crisscrossed from the opposing sides, the occasional grenade being thrown.

Even in the distance, the steady pounding _thumps _of the Deathwave Cannons firing in volleys for artillery support. Battlemechs and vehicles alike from both sides clashed mid-field.

Due to the Praxxus 7 landscape and Vortian complexes, warfare with the cutting-edge technology meant nothing in archaic battlefront warfare. A literal line of Irken positions on one side, the "dead zone" between the two nothing more than charred, barren landscape, and the dug-in defensive emplacements of the Vortians.

Between the intense, grand scale of a firefight, the radio chatter as orders and information were issued and relayed over the various channels, and the cries of agony and pain from both sides as they were felled in brutal fashion, all that could be used to describe the scene was complete and utter chaos as its finest.

"Comms, where's the DW support at?" Vult demanded as he squeezed off well-aimed plasma rounds from his rifle, keeping a lower profile. "Our advance is stalled until they soften those positions up! Wait around too long and they'll regroup and be all over us!"

The communications officer, standing out amongst his fellow soldiers with a large radio and antenna array on his back, accompanying headphones placed on his head."

"They're covering their standard pattern, Sir!" He responded back, ducking out of instinct as a grenade went off just outside of the crater, raining dirt and debris down on them. "They'll be hitting your requested coordinates in a matter of minutes!"

"We don't have a matter of minutes!" Vult yelled back, ejecting the spend power cell in his rifle, watching it simply fall to the ground as he slid a new one in, slamming the top of the weapon back down, locking it in place. It automatically charged up as he prepared to continue fending off the Vortians.

"Orders, Sir?!" Another soldier questioned, fright in his magenta eyes as he clutched his rifle with vigor. His arms were trembling greatly, barely able to hold his plasma rifle.

"Head down and sights downrange!" The Lt. ordered without hesitation. He didn't need cowards under his command, but willing and able soldiers, "Reinforcements are on their way and artillery support is coming, just stay alert and drop anything that isn't Irken!"

About that time, a large explosion erupted violently, taking with it the soldier he was just speaking to in a fireball of plasma energy and coating the area with yet another fresh layer of dirt and debris.

Vult adjusted his positioning to prevent himself from falling out from his cover into the newly created opening in the berm of his crater he called home at the moment, as well as to shake off the collected soil to prevent from being buried alive. He looked to his rear over his shoulder, watching the stragglers of his invasion unit finally regrouping, carrying the larger weapons they needed at the moment.

"Get that Heavy Plasma Cannon up here now!" Vult ordered without missing a beat. Being in command, each and every one of these soldiers' lives were in his hands, but so was the priority of sticking to the mission and completing it. "Slot those filthy, horned scum!"

The duo rushed forward through the hail of plasma fire, luckily making it unscathed to the opening in the crater wall. Like clockwork, the assistant gunner slammed the tripod into the ground, stabilizing it, while the gunner attached the large swiveling weapon a top it, and heated it up for firing all in one motion.

The HPC came to life with rumbling vigor as it pumped out hundreds of large plasma bolts in a near steady stream, doing its intended job of "suppressive fire". That meant that it was literally mowing down any Vortians unlucky enough to be caught in the sights of it. The trio of barrels unleashed a rapid stream of bolts as they spun in succession, cutting out a unique, macabre tempo of brutality.

A Vortian Commander, his battle dress quite different from his soldiers gave a signal, but even his voice carried to the Irken line. He was quite prominent to say the least, even at the distance between the lines.

"The Irken tyrants are too strong! Fall back!"

"Now's our chance," Vult thought to himself as he stood to his feat while the chatter of the HPC continued, "load up, on your feet, charge!"

Only a handful, ten or fifteen at best out of his hundred soldier unit was on their feet, reloading their weapons, even a couple of them were reluctant at that after having a taste of combat. Combat effectiveness was a joke to mention at this point.

"Belay that, Sir," The communications officer spoke respectfully of his superior's rank, gaining Vult's attention. He appeared to be intently listening into his communications headset.

"On what grounds, Comms? We have the Vortians retreating and their numbers dwindling fast. At this rate, it will be only a matter of hours before we conquer this pathetic moon and hit the homeworld in full force."

"…it's a…Priority 1 Directive from Armada Command, Sir." He informed, almost unable to comprehend the idea.

Those nearby were stricken with awe at the idea.

Without a word, the battle-hardened Lt. approached and snatched the headset off of his head, raking the communication officer's antenna painfully in the process. Lt. Vult placed the headset on his own dirt-covered, blood-smeared head.

"I repeat, this is a Priority 1 Directive by decree of the Almighty Tallest themselves," the hollow voice of someone that hadn't seen the battle with their own eyes, nor ever set foot on a field, continued to speak in a monotone, but remained clear, "All Irken Armada forces of the Empire taking part in Operation Impending Doom are to immediately withdraw from operations and return to Irk…"

Devastation didn't even begin to cover what he, those around him, and any proud soldier of the Irken Empire was feeling. Simply removing the headset, he still stood there in awe, nay, shock after hearing his own leaders, the all-knowing, all-powerful leaders they had all come to know and respect and would lay their lives down for them and the sanctity of the Empire without question had…betrayed them. They had done what no other leader had done before, and it wasn't for the better.

Almighty Tallest Red and Purple had issued the Irken Empire's first "withdraw", the politically correct and disgusting term for "retreat".

"Retreat" wasn't in the Irken repertoire, nor was "defeat", yet, on this day, they met both unexpectantly.

His Elite Guard uniform, a dark violet, was pocked with carbon scoring from near misses, no longer pristine, was beaten and battered, matching the soldier wearing it. Only after paying a sacrifice in blood for the name of the Empire and to be told to retreat was an utter disgrace and shame of the once seemingly invincible Armada. Even so…orders were orders, and disobeying them had unwanted…consequences.

"Everyone that can walk, on your feet," Vult began solemnly, the force in his voice lackluster at best, "carry the wounded that can make it…put the others out of their misery."

"All that sacrifice…paid in blood…Irken blood, the very same that flows in my veins," Vult thought as the dozen or so soldiers assumed a patrol formation as they followed their commanding officer, "…for nothing. Nothing was gained, and we lost considerably. Out of 100 soldiers, 30 of them were killed in the initial invasion landing only a mere 14 hours ago, and now I'm walking the rest of them, a meager 17 at combat effectiveness, in retreat back to Irk, empty handed."

Other slowly joined, the mass continually growing as dozens turned to hundreds, hundreds to thousands, a wave of the Irken Empire's finest with heads hung in disgrace stepped over their fallen comrades and enemy soldiers alike, the blood-soaked territory they had fought tooth-and-nail for mere hours ago. They appeared much like Vult did in appearance with their armor far from pristine, many with minor wounds, and a depressing posture to match. Vehicles growled together into an angry hum as they slowly kept pace, battlemechs stepping in sync with one another.

Even now, the Irken Lieutenant could tell that he wasn't the only one to take heavy casualties. He would only see one or two soldiers from the same unit here and there, while groups larger than 3 and 4 were rare. Their eyes also seemed to drift to Vult and his unit, the only one in sight with double digits.

The weary Lt. could almost hear the celebrations, laughing, and even taunting of the Vortians, watching the most powerful army in the entire universe turn away from their objective and essentially run home. It made Vult cringe at the idea of an inferior species, regardless of the former alliance, being victorious over the mighty Irken Empire.

Vortians did have a similar code of conduct to the Irken, hence the well structured military, but he truly didn't mind if one of them put a plasma bolt in his back…at least the sickening pain of a bitter defeat would go away.

It didn't matter to the "brass" as many groundpounders had come to know the higher-ups that decided their fates on a daily basis without remorse. Irken were artificially created, and quickly replaced as soon as the KIA signal reached the birthing facilities. Mere seconds between the loss of a life and creation of another to replace it, all computer controlled and anticipated.

Life didn't have much merit when you knew you could easily be replaced without a second though, but thanks to the manipulations and integration of the PAK into their physiology, it phased out any and all objection to the idea. Free will was still present…for those that kept their mouths shut and didn't attract attention.

Those who spoke out against the Empire or anything to do with it usually disappeared a couple days later. The likely cause was deactivation for being "defective"…for not fitting the pre-described mold set in place for every single individual of the Irken race to follow.

It didn't matter to contemplate the morality or ethics, it was how things were, and will be. The system was specifically designed and engineered to eliminate naysayers.

Vult, on the other hand, was still loyal to the Irken Empire, and would bring the universe to its knees in the name of the Almighty Tallest at the drop of a hat, but something was…troubling him.

These soldiers…they depended on him, trusted him, and followed orders without question, much like any good Irken would in the field, but that was what bothered him the most…a sickening feeling in the deepest pit of his squeedly spooch that gnawed at him.

They blindly followed him into oblivion, yet he was entitled to walk away unscathed.

No…he would carry the psychological impact with him for the rest of his days.

"Never again…" Vult thought as the hundreds of dropships broke over the horizon, more landing, and the many ships of a fleet that belonged to the Armada. It wasn't anywhere near the size of the escort fleet The Massive had, but impressive to say the least. "Never again will I sacrifice others for such a cause unless I too am willing to die for it. I will be struck down and lay in the field beside them."

The dropships were clouded in silence, not an easy feat when each held several hundred Irken soldiers. Ascending was also more gently than punching through the atmosphere of alien worlds and landing hard, hitting the ground running. Vult looked around, his unit still present, or what was left of it, but noticed the others were just as equally distraught from being pulled away unwillingly, as well as friends and comrades dead without a reason or a goal to fight for.

A quick shuttle from planetside to the numerous warships of the Irken Armada in formation around Praxxus 7 returned the ground forces to their respective vessels. What was more frightening the severe lack of medical attention aboard the spacecraft.

It was fiscally draining for anything past moderate wounds and healthcare, and Irken were always instructed at the rudimentarily levels to simply "suck it up" and keep going. Sure, the PAK, what made an Irken…an Irken, would administer treatment, but it only seemed to aid with minor wounds, not mending gaping, shredded holes from shrapnel.

The philosophy seemed to be if they were still on two feet and not holding their organs in their hands, they were good to go. Anything worse, such as ruptured organs and/or missing body parts weren't covered by the medical staff unless it was a slow day. Today was far from it, and even those with injuries the doctors and surgeons could contend with was going to be difficult because of the sheer volume of wounded. It wouldn't be all that surprising to see some of these soldiers die from blood loss or shock if they aren't reached in time.

Come to think of it, he had never seen other soldiers minus appendages or other anatomical parts still in the field. Those that survived said crippling injuries usually found menial tasks or desk jobs, depending on the severity and if they're mentality was intact.

More or less to make sure he wasn't shot and didn't know it, he got a quick scan from a nearby medical station, checking out with a clean bill of health. Minus a few lacerations from close calls with debris and shrapnel about his unprotected face and head. The lack of a helmet for frontline troops, especially the Elite Guard, all except for a useless high metal collar that covered his mouth, was disturbing to say the least. He had personally seen many deaths on Praxxus 7 be avoided…if they had only had helmets.

Vult sat down in the cavernous hangar bay of the Ringcutter cruiser. The name of the vessel escaped him, but it wasn't his job to know that. It was his job to fight for the Empire, nothing more…nothing less. Wearily, he exhaled as he rest his head against the bulkhead, awaiting his soldiers, of whom were in literal lines for medical attention as if they were ordering food.

The Lt. closed his eyes for a bit of rest, something he hadn't had in the maelstrom planetside of Praxxus 7, 14 long, bloody, terrifying hours of grinding across the terrain in hopes to uproot the defenders…all for naught. Almighty Tallest or not giving the order to retreat, he was quite upset with their decision to do so.

It didn't matter anymore, nothing he could say or do would change the course taken. All Vult could do now was take in solstice that he survived something many others of his people had not. Even then, it was a minute, pyrrhic victory.

"Just rest my eyes for a bit…" he commented to himself, feeling the onset of sleep beginning to overtake him, combined with the small doses of painkillers and relaxants that his PAK automatically triggered after sensing the range of his injuries. Due to an unforeseen piece of shrapnel, very small at that, was lodged in the side of his PAK, and had damaged the medical supplement delivery system.

Minutes of rest turned into hours as he sat there, rifle laying across his lap. Unaware of the time passed, Lt. Vult awoke from his slumber, nearly blinded as another Irken shone light into his eyes.

"Good to see you're awake, Lieutenant," a female voice, soft and caring at that, spoke.

Once his vision focused once more, he immediately noticed that she was considerably taller than he was, by a few inches easily. Medical Officer or not, she still outranked him because of her stature.

In their society, regardless of anything else, the taller you were, the more power and command you wielded, hence why the Almighty Tallest were their leaders.

It was extremely rare, but she also possessed deep blue eyes, they accented her absurdly white uniform with black gloves and boots, brandished the Irken Medical Corps symbol on the shoulder, a matching cap and protective goggles strapped atop her head. Her antenna curled at the ends much like most females of their species, but hers faced slightly outwards, almost in a drooping fashion. Accompanied by her soft-spoken voice, she was very timid to say the least.

Vult slowly rose up, holding his head. He felt a little woozy at best.

"What happened to me, Ma'am?" Vult politely asked, rubbing his temples, trying to get the sensation to go away.

"I found this…" she informed quietly, showing him a sliver of razor-sharp metal about two inches long, "lodged in your PAK. I'm not an expert on the PAK itself, but I quickly noticed the side-effects. It appears to have damaged your pain suppression and medical assessment modules and applied an overdose of chemicals into your body for your wounds. Nothing else appears to be damaged other than those two modules, and I already replaced them. Accompanied by fatigue, it was only inevitable that you passed out…Lieutenant." A hint of embarrassment as she finished, remembering that as a soldier, he knew very little of what she spoke of, not to mention he was already clouded in judgment from the painkillers.

"I see…" Vult nodded, understanding the concept rather well to her surprise, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Think nothing of it, Lieutenant," She meekly smiled, "it is my job, nothing more, nothing less."

The end of her statement caused Vult's antenna to perk up with fully grasped attention…and curiosity. It sounded oddly close to home.

"Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"…Granted." The Medical Officer hesitantly answered, unsure of Vult's motives.

"May I ask what your name is? You did save my life after all. Between you and me, I'd rather die with glory for the Empire than falling into a drug-induced coma, so it's pretty significant for me to say the least."

She avoided a frown at how devoted he was to death, but soldiers were soldiers after all, and that was how they were programmed to be.

"…Sula," she spoke, shyly hiding her face with embarrassment, "Medical Officer Sula. Much like yourself, Lieutenant, I was assigned to…Praxxus 7, not as a soldier, but as a field medic."

"Are you Irken Elite?" Vult continued to make conversation as if he was speaking with a life-long friend.

"No, Imperial Trooper," she answered. Imperial Troopers were the lowest rung on the ladder of Armada ground forces.

Imperial Troopers, Irken Elite, Special Operations (Spec Ops), and Honor Guard rounded out that list. Spec Ops was explained fully in the name, missions and operations that couldn't normally be handled by standard means, and the Honor Guard was a legend amongst the entire Empire. The Almighty Tallests' personal army, sort of speak, of the highest caliber of soldier, as well. Their numbers are unknown, but estimated in the thousands at least.

It was about this time that Vult finally noticed he was in a small shuttle craft, not the large Ringcutter, and the homeworld of Irk coming into view. Praxxus 7 was many, many lightyears away from Irk, and would have taken at least 10 hours of travel at FTL. That would have meant he had been unconscious for at least that long, if not more to have no recollection of it.

Sula seemed to simply accompanying him to ensure he woke from his overdose of painkillers, but other than her, there were only the pilots at the front of the vessel.

"Why aren't we on the Ringcutter, Ma'am?" Vult asked of his height superior as she seemed to be packing the remainder of her medical equipment back into the various pockets and pouches about her belt and uniform.

Without an answer, the co-pilot handed Sula a datapad, whom promptly handed it to Vult.

"These are your orders, Lieutenant," Sula spoke informatively, watching as the deep magenta surface of Irk continued to come into view. "One of the Communications Officers who was delivering your orders found you against the bulkhead in the hangar, unconscious, and promptly called for medical attention. I came along to ensure you were going to be fine and recover."

Vult was nearly taken back as he scrolled through the datapad, eyes wide with surprise.

"What in the name of Irk is this all about?" He thought, taking in what was written before him.

_Att: Lieutenant Vult, Irken Elite, 332__nd__ Regiment_

_Authority: Almighty Tallest Red and Purple of the Irken Empire_

_*FOR YOUR EYES ONLY*_

_Security Level: 9_

_Lt. Vult, you are to personally report in audience of the Almighty Tallest ASAP. Your orders for this action will be fully disclosed then and only then. You are to report to our palace upon Irk by 2100 hours. That is all for now._

"What could the Almighty Tallest possibly want with me?" He thought, shaking his head slightly in disbelief as he continued to study the information, lulling it over in his head.

For Lt. Vult, his life and destiny was about to be shaped and changed forever…


	3. Recruitment Drive

Nervous didn't even begin to cover the plethora of emotions raging through Vult's mind as he rode the gravity lift to the highest point in the Imperial Palace, personal quarters of the Almighty Tallest. It was host to two co-rulers this time, being of the exact same height and tallest of the Irken race, but the palace itself, with dozens of floors and sprawling decadence, it easily played as their home rather well.

His orders, more of a brief message than anything, still rang through his head. It wasn't unheard of for the Tallest to call for a summons or a meeting with soldiers throughout the Armada, but it was usually for disciplinary reasons, negative ones at that. In fact, due to a breach of conduct, the former captain of the very Ringcutter his unit used as a staging ground before the Praxxus 7 invasion was shot into space via airlock.

Vult had only met the Almighty Tallest on one other occasion in the field as they surveyed troop movements on an invasion of a back-galaxy world for turning the planet into a monies-making resort and lodge. That was Lt. Vult's first assignment in the field as well, understudy to another officer, a Captain…whom he will never forget.

At risk of dredging up the past, he shook his head free of the thought, the lift stopping at the top floor with a pneumatic _hiss_. Vult was embarrassed by his battle-scarred appearance having come straight from Praxxus 7 without changing or even cleaning up as dried, dark emerald blood from his lacerations stained his face, which was already about a shade darker than usual because of the dirt and grime he had contracted. Something that would have earned him a reputation amongst his peers may condemn him by his leaders.

Prepared to be as punctual as possible, the Irken Elite continued down the long corridor, his booted footsteps echoing throughout the spacious and lusciously decorated hall. It was a literal museum of Irken past as leaders from long ago all the way to the present were in paintings, as were important dates in history.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally came to a pair of double doors, the Irken Empire symbol on them. What actually caught his attention was the two guarding the doors at either side, staves in hand. They towered over Vult, and next to the Tallest, they were, well…the tallest Irken he had seen in his life. Their black uniforms and gold markings were the telltale sign of Honor Guard. The quickly blocked his path by crossing their staffs, usually used to keep unruly prisoners in line on conquered worlds.

"What business do you have with the Almighty Tallest, Soldier?" One of them barked, taking his job quite seriously. "This is a restricted area, unless you have reason to be here, I suggest you leave."

Vult cleared his throat as he adjusted his collar, producing the datapad.

"…I have…direct orders from the Almighty Tallest to meet with them, Sir," he politely informed, holding it out for him to read.

The guard's dark green eye, much darker than his skin tone, peered, scanning the few lines present in quick succession.

"Very well…Lieutenant," he began, lifting his staff from blocking the way, his colleague doing the same, "you may enter."

Promptly saluting the two of them, he marched through, the doors parting way, revealing yet another spacious, circular room, large bay windows having a prime view of Irk's mechanical cityscape that sprawled across the planet. A majority of it was smoldering ruins at the moment though.

Before him, two absurdly tall Irken, one red, the other purple in garment dressing, were engaged in a conversation with a very tiny thing of an Invader on a screen. By the way things appeared, he was in shackles and in a prison somewhere.

"Please, My Tallest, I beg of you to forgive me!" He exclaimed in a shrill, annoying voice. "All I wished to do was make you proud by destroying…things."

Tallest Purple simply shook his head as Red was on the verge of blowing a gasket, grinding his teeth in frustration.

"Even after you were responsible for the deaths of not one, but TWO Tallest before us, we thought you would quite…being stupid," Red seethed, finally losing it, "but you DESTROYED MOST OF IRK!!! You messed up big this time, Zim! You're lucky we don't have you, oh…I don't know, executed or something."

"For which I am sorry, My Tallest," Zim continued to plead his case, "I truly am. I wish to…fix things and serve honorably for the Irken Empire!"

"Forget it, Zim," Purple finally spoke up, garnering his co-ruler's attention, "we've already got enough problems as it is than from trying to keep you from wiping our kind from existence. Have fun in prison until we decide your fate."

"No, My Tallest, wa-"

Red cut the transmission, sighing.

"How could such a small, insignificant thing like…that cause so much devastation? You know, he'd be dangerous if he wasn't so stupid."

"Fire him into the surface of Vort, let him finish them off…if he survives the impact anyway," Purple suggested as he threw a handful of snacks into his mouth, chewing them loudly.

"We'll decide his fate later," Red answered, ending the conversation as he turned around to see Lt. Vult at attention, "Ah…Soldier, what can we do for you?" He asked, forgetting the name of the one they summoned. It was…hard to remember the names of his subjects, and being as lethargic as he was, that was only more work added on to already running the universe's most powerful empire.

"I was…sent for by you at your request, My Almighty Tallest," he humbly answered, taking a knee before his rulers, "I am Lieutenant Vult of the Irken Elite, 332nd Regiment."

"Oh yeah…" Purple seemed to remember before Red did, which was quite surprising in its own regard, "we did call him here, didn't we?"

"May I ask what My Tallest have called onto me for the honor of conversing in person?" Vult continued to mind his manners.

He had met the Almighty Tallest before in the beginning of their rule. They may have forgotten him, but he never did, especially what happened on that day so long ago.

"Let me handle this," Red began, directed towards his co-ruler, turning his attention back to Vult, "on your feet, Lieutenant."

Heeding his order, Vult stood at ease as Red hovered closer to him, towering over the shorter Irken Elite by a few feet easily.

"You're not too tall…" he trailed off, as if he was inspecting him, murmuring to himself, "…you'll do just fine."

"For what task, may I ask, My Tallest?"

"Oh, right," Red remembered looking around, assured that it was only the three of them in the room. "hold your questions to the end, I'm sure you'll have them. As you're aware of, Lieutenant…Vult, things aren't going as…planned-"

"Zim nearly destroyed Irk and brought about the collapse of the Empire." Purple blurted out, as if he was answering a trivia question.

"I said I'd handle this," Red angrily responded to Purple, "Just…be quiet, okay?"

"Sorry," the violet ruler apologized, his antenna drooping as he said it.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Tallest Red emphasized on "rudely interrupted" as he shot a glance at Purple, "things aren't going as planned with Operation Impending Doom. Sadly…we've cancelled it for the time being. Too much damage was done by Zim and we're struggling to keep things afloat as it is. The only positive thing so far to come from this is the blackout of all information coming in and going out of Praxxus 7 for the moment…sorry, wasn't supposed to tell you that, but nevertheless…."

"Stop being overly dramatic," Purple interjected, gently shoving Red aside as he stood beside him, equal in height. "We're looking into finding…alternatives than just large invasion forces, so we plan on having a few…experiments."

"Experiments, My Tallest?"

"Field tests, not experiments," Red corrected, seeing the worry it put into Vult. "since this is already taking too long as it is, I'm going to keep it short. We need a unit of soldiers that personally answer to us and us alone, do as we say, and so on…I-"

"We," Purple made clear, proud to be included.

"…_We_ would like you to be the leader of this team. Very sneaky…stuff, things that not even the rest of the Armada or another soul in the entire Empire can know of. Not only are you being promoted to the rank of Commander, but you have expedited access to us for your assignments as we see fit. Though your thoughts mean very little at this point…what do you think_, Commander_?"

"Commander Vult…that does have a nice ring to it," he thought, trying to remain composed from the idea, but quickly came back to reality. "Why me, My Tallest? I am but a lowly soldier, there are better candidates for this than myself."

"Precisely," Red grinned deviously, his seemingly half-awake stare accompanying it. "No one asks questions from someone as…tall as you are, questions would come about if we brought anyone else in that is noticeable."

Tallest Red meant nothing by it other than stating facts, but it didn't do too much for his self-esteem saying he wasn't very considerable and whatnot.

"Not to scare you or anything," Red began in the silence once more, "but if you do turn this down, I'm afraid you'll be insubordinate of us, and that is justified grounds for assessment and a quick trip to deactivation for being defective…choose wisely, Commander."

His choice was severely hampered then, either do as they say, or be deactivated, an Irken's worst nightmare. Their subconscious would be completely erased from the databanks and they would cease to be…forever.

"…under two conditions, My Tallest, if I may," Vult confidently spoke to his leaders.

The two leaders were taken back for a moment at this lowly Irken Elite's boldness.

"You don't seem to be in a position to make exceptions…" Red spoke, more amused than anything at his trifling, "but continue to amuse me."

"I only ask that you allow me to personally hand-pick the soldiers that are to be part of this unit. I do need the best of the best after all, not more recycled soldiers…not that they aren't the best soldiers in the universe as it is, but I ask for more, I need the very best. The better they are the, fewer I'll need, and the easier it would be to keep the unit a secret. Depending how many soldiers I need, we will need transport and barracks, and for what you want of us, something out of the way. These are necessities for the kind of operations you want of me, My Tallest."

"Hmm…" Tallest Red pondered, thinking about the proposition.

"He has a point," Purple concluded, scratching his head in concentrated thought, "makes sense to me. Besides, it's cute that he's demanding something from us, we usually shoot people out of airlocks for that kind of thing."

"…Very well, we'll grant you your request, Commander," Red lazily caved in, finding it hard enough as it was to remain focused, "but don't take forever, we need you as operational as soon as possible. What kind of a timetable can you give us."

"Within a year, My Tallest," Vult blurted out, but quickly followed up with reasoning, "I do need time to assemble the unit, but also begin various trainings to prepare them for working in secrecy and without support, as well as specialty hardware to be designed for our use."

"Seems…reasonable enough…very well, Commander, your request is granted. We'll make the necessary arrangements to give you clearance to find the soldiers of your choice. As for transport and accommodations...it will be taken care of by the time you assemble your unit."

"It is an honor to be called to such a duty for My Tallest and the almighty Irken Empire," Vult bowed with great respect, "I will not fail you in this endeavor."

"For your sake, Commander, I hope not," Red said matter-of-factly, regardless of Vult's intentions in his vow, "you can be replaced, keep that in mind."

"Don't mind him, he's cranky over Zim destroying nearly everything we know as a species." Purple spoke, getting yet another hard glare from Tallest Red. "That is all we wish to speak with you for now, here, take this…" He offered a small wrist-mounted communicator, it appeared to be compatible with his forearm guard. "This should give you a direct line of communication with us. Don't call us, we'll call you. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have an empire to rebuild, much work to do."

With a quick snap of a salute, a very proud one at that, Vult bid his leaders adieu.

Continuing to exist was always a plus, and given a chance to do his Tallest and Empire proud was another advantage. "Commander Vult" did sound very…commanding to say the least in his mind.

"What was your second request, Commander?" Red beckoned, stopping Vult in his tracks from leaving the room.

Simply looking over his shoulder, he took a solemn sigh.

"…That I ask for revenge for the embarrassment on Praxxus 7, My Tallest. I will personally see to it myself that the Vortians pay for that travesty."

"Oh, I assure you your vengeance," Red maliciously replied, feeling anger boil his blood, his emotions placed very similarly to the Irken soldier. "will be personally repaid in full plus interest. You have our blessing, after all."

Vult didn't waste a moment in his recruitment drive for what was quite possibly the biggest secret the Irken Empire was to ever hold…or at least would turn into, that is. In the present, it was simply another assignment, orders to be followed without question, and another opportunity to carry the colors again for his Empire he had been ever so faithful to.

Nearly beaming, he walked up to the shuttle that had transported him from Praxxus 7 and his station aboard the Ringcutter, finding the pilots performing routine maintenance, while Medical Officer Sula seemed to be checking medical records of various cases she obtained while doing her duty during the campaign. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she picked up Vult approaching.

"Well, Lieutenant, you seem to be in…good spirits," she commented with a warm, greeting smile. "How was your meeting with the Almighty Tallest?"

"Respectfully, Ma'am," Vult returned equally, "it's Commander now."

"Oh, I see, a promotion, congratulations _Commander_. You're a bit short to be a commander of forces though, that's a little odd they would promote you." She observed, minding her tone to not offend. The last thing she wanted to do was act superior over anyone because of her height. It already singled her out enough as it was.

"I thought the same thing, but so is the nature of my next and permanent assignment," he informed, seeing that it couldn't hurt, "and I've been given full reign over building my unit as such. Security clearance aside…" He began, assuring the nearby pilots couldn't overhear their conversation, "I answer to no one else in the entire Armada but the Almighty Tallest themselves. A task force at their beck and call, given high priority, low exposure assignments and whatnot."

"So Spec Ops then?" She deduced.

"Even more so," Vult admitted, gaining her full attention, even a little bit of surprise as well. "Very dangerous, covert operations that no one is to know of, not even fellow soldiers."

"Why are you telling me all this then, Commander?" Sula quizzingly asked, seeing he was already voiding his oath to the Tallest.

"I know your medical skills first hand, Medical Officer," Vult began, "and I would like to know if you would be interested in being an addition to my unit as a squad medic. I need the best since we'll be operating on a very small scale in the field."

"…I…don't know, Commander, I'm only basically trained in combat, I've always been stationed behind frontlines and sent in for recovery in the aftermath."

"You can stand there and truthfully tell me that you enjoy doing what I saw taking place on the Ringcutter, more often than not, simply giving the injured a merciful death because of the extent of their injuries. All I ask is that you come under my command, and you will be a savior that is truly revered by those around you, not just another mindful drone doing their part for the war effort. So, Medical Officer, what do you say?"

He was right, more than she wished. Working in battlefield medicine was already morbid enough without putting soldiers out of their misery because she hadn't the tools or technology to perform procedures other than closing wounds and stopping blood loss. The only reason she helped Vult was because of her extracurricular reading she had done on PAK functions in medicine. The more she thought about it, regardless of height, the offer was looking better and better.

"You have the power to simply transfer me to your unit, even if I were to decline?"

"If I was completely heartless, yes," Vult answered, "if you don't want to, I understand, this is pretty important, but I truly feel that both of us would benefit, as would the Empire in turn, if you were to join my unit, Sula…er, Medical Officer."

Seeming to finally come to a conclusion, she let out a sigh through pursed lips. Sula snapped to attention, even saluting Vult.

"I hope that I'm the kind of medical officer you're looking for, Commander," She spoke with a meek smile, partially embarrassed by her own vigor. "…if I'm up to your expectations, that is."

Vult couldn't help but smile in satisfaction as he acquired his first member of the Almighty Tallest' personal squad of secrecy.

"Welcome aboard, Medical Officer," he congratulated, returning her salute, "as I said, all I ask is for your subordination beneath my command, and we'll get along just fine."

"Yes, Sir, Commander," Sula obeyed, falling right into the niche rather well. It was different to regard one shorter than her as "Sir" or her superior, but he seemed to have a level head and pure in intentions for forming such a unit. "What are my orders?"

"For the moment, return to the Ringcutter and continue with your duties," he responded, noticing the pilots were done with their pre-flight checks, "I'll summon you when the time comes. In the meantime, I have some more scouting and recruiting to do here on Irk. Remember, Medical Officer…this is a very sensitive matter, don't tell anyone if avoidable and keep things simple."

"Yes, Commander, I understand," she nodded, sending her own communication frequency to Vult's so he could personally contact her to do as such when he needed her.

Not long after Sula returned to her post aboard the ship, Vult found himself at the Armada Archives and Databanks beneath the planet's surface, a vast expanse and display of server storage for many various bits of information, from fleet specifications, to every single active Irken in the universe, their very identity stored within the banks of knowledge.

Everything was automated, he was the only organic being there at the moment, just as he intended, no witnesses to complicate things. The Irken Commander sat before a large terminal that seemed to be an access hub to the databanks.

"Computer," he commanded, watching the large screen, "display all Irken military forces."

"Security Clearance required," a deep, electronic voice responded in directive.

Vult plugged his PAK into the machine's mainframe, allowing it to acquire the necessary data. His PAK whirred and shifted mechanically from within as the computer sought out the necessary credentials now implanted into him, thanks to a update in the Archives by the Almighty Tallest, specifically dealing with his promotion.

"Processing request…processing complete, Access Granted, Commander Vult." The artificial voice stated once more, quickly showing hundreds of thousands well into the millions on the screen in quick succession, scrolling as the list grew.

"Remove everything but forces assigned to Praxxus 7."

The list quickly shortened to a few hundred thousand.

"Remove any that are KIA, MIA, or unknown."

Once more, the list shrunk, but was nearly halved due to the extensive casualties inflicted in the assault. A list of approximately 100,000 remained.

"Leave only the members of units that were inflicted less than 50% casualties planetside."

The most drastic reduction yet, as 100,000 soldiers listed quickly shrunk to several dozen, just shy of a hundred at best.

"Arrange in descending order from highest rank to lowest, remove Commanders, Field Commanders, and Captains from the list."

The supercomputer quickly processed the request, leaving a manageable list in its wake.

"Computer," Vult began once more, thinking of how he wished to word his command, "build separate lists of the following profession training: Mechanical Technician, Scout, Pilot, Heavy Weapons, Demolitions, Communications…Infiltration…and…" he pondered, trying to remember the various classes and training soldiers could be put through, "…Infantry. I think that's all the major ones."

Yet again, the terminal processed the information, displaying only a few names in each category at most, turning the impossible into only a little bit of searching to find out where his candidates were stationed after the assault on Praxxus 7. A quick download to his datapad of the necessary information was all it took to get him started in the right direction.

"Let's see what is the most accessible without me traveling halfway across the universe," Vult commented to himself, scrolling through the data, seeking out any of them stationed on Irk. His search results within his datapad quickly concluded, showing the desired information. "Good, I don't have to go far for a few of these, might as well start with the nearest, and that would be…one Lieutenant Corr, Irken Elite Infantry."

It was frightening how similar two very different individuals were, and for Corr, his existence as he knew it was going to change forever.


	4. 10 Soldiers, 1 Destiny

Planet Irk was once teeming with life, a lush landscape that sprawled from pole to pole, meeting at the equator in a simpler time. That long disappeared with the onset of technology, mainly that created for destruction. The Irken were destined to become supreme rulers of their own planet, and in that horrific process over thousands of years, brought about the very end product that is seen today.

No longer once a beautiful paradise, but metropolis spreading for hundreds of miles, even the very surface of the planet is artificial, all controlled and bound by the Irken placed in charge of maintaining it. A race that was nearly psychotic in its quest for order and rule produced a planet that retained very little of its original state.

The only thing that Commander Vult had to thank for that was transit from place to place was quick and efficient, unhindered by terrain, formations, or any other form of natural occurrences. The base was equally perfect in dimension and symmetrical. That had some merit for being a logical constructive feature, making a position easier to defend from invading forces, but the thought that another race of the universe had the forces and firepower to assault the Irken homeworld was laughable at best.

Besides…nature was uncontrollable and ugly by Irken standards, and thus, must be terminated.

"Here we are," Vult thought, straightening out his new uniform, mainly for show to the common soldier when not operation on-mission. It was a standard Spec-Ops uniform, black in color with deep purple edging, reminiscent of his Irken Elite uniform, his rank boldly imprinted on the shoulder paldoron. The resembled fatigues more than combat armor, complete with polished boots and all, and decided it was for the better he looked as professional as possible on his scouting for members of his unit.

His quick stroll from the landing pad and a check for clearance brought him to a barracks, one of many that made up a literal city of an Armada base, host to hundreds of thousands of soldiers serving the Irken Empire. More or less gentle-sloping domes that rose out of the ground, they were the only home soldiers, or any Irken for that matter, would know.

The Irken Commander rapped several times on a heavy, metallic door, hearing it echo from within dully. The tumblers sounded and promptly released the lock, swinging inward to reveal a considerably tall individual, dressed very similarly to Vult prior this current assignment.

Compared to Vult, he towered over him with nearly 6 inches of stature, Sula even rivaling his height. Lt. Corr was a prime example of military prowess in Irken form.

"Yes…Commander?" Corr questioned politely, looking closer at Vult's uniform for his rank, surprised that he was outranked by someone shorter than him, but shook the notion free for a moment. "How may I be of service?"

"You are Lt. Corr, correct, Sir?" Vult respected the hierarchy, despite his rank, getting a nod of agreement, "Do you have a moment to discuss something in…private?"

Perplexed, and possessing every right to be at the moment, Corr stood to the side to allow Vult access into his quarters.

"Of course, Commander," he gestured politely, more curious to anything. "May I ask something of you though, Sir?"

"You're taller than me, Lieutenant," Vult pointed out with a smirk, "I should be asking you why you don't demand me to attention or salute you, all that nonsense. Those blessed with stature tend to be quite egotistical."

Vult remained standing while Corr found a seat on the edge of his neatly pressed bunk, fit to military regulations. The whole room that played host to his quarters was in neat and perfect order, nothing out of place. Other than standard issue equipment, it was barren, all except an interesting display at the other side of the room of ancient weapons. Curiosity could wait for the moment though.

"That is true, Sir, but in the technical standpoint, Commander outranks Lieutenant in the traditional command structure," he neatly quoted, almost proud to retain such knowledge, quickly brought on by a bout of embarrassment, "…I apologize, Sir, I got a little carried away there, I like to study military history in my free time, that just happens to be something I've picked up along the way."

"No need to apologize," Vult continued, feeling a little more relaxed around the seemingly prestigious Irken soldier. "Where are my manners at? I am Commander Vult, Special Operations…for appearances, that is, but the rank remains the same."

"May I ask why you're here, Commander?"

Much like with Sula, it took a moment to prepare how and what he was to say, especially to a superior by Armada regulations. Vult seemed a little wary of his surroundings, assured they were secure, and even went to the extent to lean forward a little to speak softer.

"I am currently tasked by the Almighty Tallest themselves with forming a unit that answers to absolutely no one but them, missions at their discretion, and fighting in a most unconventional way. The Armada and allies cannot know of our operations, hence the precautions I've taken thus far. I need soldiers, good ones, just like you, Lt. Corr, to fill my ranks. I need skilled soldiers, veterans of conflict, not fresh recruits just unhooked from the simulations. Our missions are of the highest priority, and it will be a service the Empire will be forever endowed with. All I ask of those that wish to take part is to come under my command, past that, you are free to do as you please within reason. What do you think, Lieutenant? You interested?"

Corr was confused, but shocked as well. The Almighty Tallest' personal unit, much like the Honor Guard, but unseen and unheard, operating in total secrecy, and the highest absolute honor that could be given to any soldier. Those that weren't born with the privlages of serving in the Honor Guard could try for a lifetime to be accepted into the rigorous training program, only to wash out…or die. In any case, this sounded like the next best thing, if not better, and opportunity to serve the Irken Empire was definitely present.

"I truly don't know what to say, Commander," Corr began, finally shaking the awe of the concept away, returning to logic, and quite possibly something Vult didn't want to hear, "but I am up for evaluation for my next promotion soon, if I don't wait for it, I may never get another chance."

"Well, when is it scheduled, Lieutenant? I'm sure we can work something out."

"It hasn't been yet, Commander, but my commanding officer said it would be within the next…several…months, possibly at that." Corr painfully informed, realizing that once he said it out loud, the less likely it was going to happen. "Oh Irk…"

"I want you to think hard about your decision, Sir," Vult spoke, hoping to lighten up his spirits, "and I know this will sway your choice, even if I say to not allow it, but…I have the power to promote you right here and now. Sure, the paperwork is a technicality, but I need a second-in-command at my side, Lieutenant, and you're just the soldier I'm looking for."

"With all due respect," Corr attempted, nearly floored once more with the offer, "how can I be sure this isn't some kind of test on my loyalty?"

Without a word, Vult plugged his datapad into his PAK, showing Corr the readings of what he was encoded as, reading as follows:

_Designation: __**Soldier**_

_Profession: __**Infantry (Irken Elite)**_

_Rank:__**Commander**_

_Armada Branch: __**Special Operations (Formerly Irken Elite)**_

_Security Clearance: __**Level 9**_

__"You have Level 9 Security Clearance?" He asked unbelievably, "why…that's limited only to Honor Guard officers and security administrators for the Armada's most secure mainframes."

The Special Operations uniform, a shorter than average Commander…it was all adding up, and it seemed to continue to lean towards Vult telling the truth.

"If you need more proof, _Captain_," Vult answered with another smirk, avoiding a smile at his enthusiasm. If not, he didn't have anything else for him to bite to be honest. "…I could contact the Almighty Tallest and allow you conference with them."

"That won't be necessary, Commander," Corr responded with a sharp salute as he assumed attention, "you came looking for a soldier, you have one, Sir. If the Almighty Tallest are in need of my skills, than who am I to refuse?"

"Very good, Captain. As for your orders for the time being, I'll know where to find you, for now, relax for a little while and await further instruction, I have much work to do yet."

"Yes, Sir," the promoted Captain stated properly, accepting his position beneath Vult's command and his last assignment he would ever be given. Whether Vult simply didn't question or was avoiding it all together, there were plenty of other candidates to approach, and to be honest, quite more qualified than Corr was. Sure, he was as good as any other soldier, a solid, dependable leader, and subservient of his superiors, but something struck him as odd as to precisely why this Spec Ops Commander, a shorter than usual one at that, would approach him of anyone in the Armada.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" Corr requested as Vult was about to leave his quarters, getting him to turn around once more to face his newly-recruited Captain.

"Proceed, Captain."

"Why did you seek me out? What is it that placed me above others to be recruited for such an assignment?"

"Like I said before, Corr," Vult began with a sigh, "the Empire called on me, and thus, you to serve it to our dying breath. As for selecting you…vengeance will be swift and merciless for Praxxus 7, I swear by it. If you could survive that, much like I did, then there isn't anything in the universe that can bring us down."

Corr remained silent, simply nodding in agreement. He held his side, just below the ribcage, the apparent site of a still-healing wound inflicted to him on that cursed moon of Vort.

"So what caused the wound?" Joker butted into the story, trying to debunk the idea that this elderly, withered husk was once a feared soldier of the Empire's best kept secret.

Without a word, Corr opened his desk, setting something from within on top of it. It appeared to be some kind of bladed weapon, possibly fixated to a rifle or other weapon if need be. It was rare to see any weapon that wasn't energy based in this day and age.

"Vortian vibroblade," Corr stated, tracing a line on his abdomen, "our position was overrun on Praxxus 7 by a counterattack, my unit was forced into hand-to-hand combat. I found out the hard way how dangerous this thing is and was nearly severed by it from here to here. If the recovery unit hadn't found me when they did, I would have been left there to die, slowly and painfully bleeding to death."

The three of them cringed within, thinking of the damage wrought by such a piece of equipment.

"So who's this Vult guy?" Digits questioned, very interested in what had happened thus far, "I've heard mention of him as being an instructor, much like you were, around here a long time ago…is he the very same one you speak of?"

"Yes, Commander Vult, along with the other members of the unit aided in the formation of the Irken Republic, secretly, of course. We trained the first batch of soldiers, considerably downsizing the Armada, but producing a higher quality soldier in general. Even in the open, we are still in the shadows…"

"What happens next? I want to hear tales of your missions and what you did as a Shadow Striker, Professor." DZ requested energetically.

"I'm getting there, just calm down," he smiled at the Irken Recruit seated before him. His eagerness reminded him much of himself in his youth, "You'll hear it soon enough, but there was one last recruitment story that I'm sure Commander Vult would want you to hear."

"Are you sure you're in the right place, Commander?" The prison guard questioned, a bit smaller than Vult was, but still intimidating with his stun staff and riot gear. "You do realize that this is a prison and not a military base, right, Sir?"

"Of course I do," Vult replied seriously, checking his datapad, "and if my information is correct, you have a current inmate somewhere by the name of Aero."

"We do, Sir, a Sgt. 1st Class Mechanical Technician, but she's on the docket to be sent for assessment, and if the charges and behavioral problems are true, more than likely deactivation for being defective."

"Is she here or not?" The Irken Commander snapped, this guard testing his patience. Everything he had to say, Vult already knew of and was well aware.

"Yes, Sir," the guard replied, remembering his position, "this is an odd request to say the least, but she is waiting for you in the interrogation room. Would you like an escort to ensure your safety, Sir?"

"That won't be necessary," He responded, walking past him, arms folded behind his back with a comfortable gait. "I'll summon you when I am finished."

The pneumatic door hissed open, revealing a blank, bland room of darkened metal, save for the barred window to the door, lighting, and minimal seating, it was barren. The figure sat across the table was shackled at the ankles and wrists, bathed in darkness. Her form was visible, features not so much, but it was clear that she was tall…extremely tall at that. The Almighty Tallest may have been just that, but she was still impressive at almost a foot shorter than they were.

"Another quack from the think tank to "assess" my "defective" nature," she venomously commented from the darkness, appearing to not be interested in whatever Vult had to say.

"Sgt 1st Class Aero, I presume?" Vult began courteously, adjusting in hopes of becoming comfortable in the rigid seat.

"Depends on who's asking."

"Commander Vult, Special Operations," He offered, hoping to garner her attention.

"…a bit short to be a Commander, aren't you?

"I seem to get that a lot lately," Vult said, more or less to himself, but she could hear it as well. "In any case, I'm here with a…proposition."

She leaned forward from the darkness at a startling rate, surprising Vult, and came within a mere inch of his face. Orbs of deep magenta stared back at him. Her antenna twitched periodically, signifying her current mood, negative at that, with the situation as the curled ends sporadically moved.

"I've told every other idiot that has come my way, wanting to know why am the way I am or offering something in hope of getting me to open up to their ridiculous theories for testing…what makes you so different?"

"…well…for starters," Vult attempted, despite the difference in rank, she was nearly twice his size, "I'm not a scientist, I'm a soldier, just like you. I know what you're here for, but that doesn't matter to me. What I'm interested in is your skill at your assigned profession as a Mechanical Technician."

"Alright, I'll bite then," Aero finally caved in, very eccentric for someone of her stature, "what could you possibly offer and be in a position to deliver?"

"…how about your freedom, for starters," Vult spoke, instantly gaining her full attention, which was a conflict all in its own thus far. Her antenna perked up upon hearing that. "…that's right, I have the power to do that. I've been given quite a bit of leverage and clearance by the Almighty Tallest themselves. You ready to throw me out the door yet?"

"…keep talking, Commander," Aero slyly spoke, leaning forward to listen intently.

"You're a Mechanical Technician, good with tools, and known how to fix nearly everything in the Irken arsenal…but how good are you?"

"Me? You're asking me how good I am?" She laughed, quickly reverting to seriousness once more, "I'm the best damn mechanic you'll ever find in the Armada. Maim-Bots, Megadoomers, Deathwave Cannons, Spittle Runners, you name it, I can fix it. One of the few things I'm in here for is attempting to reverse-engineer a SIR unit…didn't turn out so well if you couldn't tell, but vehicles and mechs, I've got you covered."

Now he was getting somewhere. Aero may not have been the most respectful to anyone, but she definitely took pride in her assignment in the Irken Empire. Tampering with Empire property, such as the SIR units, was frowned upon, but she didn't seem to be the kind to abide by rules and regulations anyway…odd for someone of her height. She could easily be a Fleet Commander if she wanted to, but she was a lowly Mechanic.

"What about starships? Any space-faring craft?"

"Anything in the Armada, hell, given the chance, I could perform maintenance on the Massive itself. Anything else out there in the universe is child's play compared to Irken complexity."

"Qualified then, are we?" Vult continued, seeing how she had come to life only moments before.

"More than you'll ever know," Aero returned with a confident smirk, but it faded, "…doesn't matter now though…next transport coming in is taking me to Judgementia, where I'll be more than likely deactivated."

"When I said I had the power to do certain…things, I meant it," Vult assured, keeping her from becoming depressed, "join my unit, under my command, and answer to no one else. All I ask is that you follow my orders. The Tallest tasked me with forming their personal squad at the call; I need you for this, Aero. The more one individual Irken can do, the fewer I need, and the easier it is to keep things quiet."

"…You saying you can bust me out of here then?" Her curled antenna perked up once more.

"Only on that single condition that you work for me now," Vult smirked, glad that she didn't focus so much on regulations…badgering him was enough, but having to call her "Ma'am" probably wouldn't have went well with such disrespect on her behalf. "…otherwise, good luck with your assessment, hopefully you aren't deactivated."

"That's a no-brainer, Commander," Aero smiled, her large magenta eyes shimmering, "you want a mechanic, you got one. I'll follow you out those doors right now."

"Not yet, Aero," he spoke, seeing it diminish slightly, "but soon, very soon. You'll know when it's time, I assure you."

Not long after the complete and utter disaster formerly known as Operation Impending Doom, Almighty Tallest Red and Purple, as they are known, began seeking alternatives to keeping the mighty Irken Empire just that, mighty, in the face of such utter destruction of the homeworld Irk by one of their own, the now-infamous Invader Zim, banished to Foodcourtia for the destruction of Irk.

As restoration efforts and rebuilding begins, the Empire is weak, much of its own military caught in the swath of destruction created by Zim. In order to prevent a complete and utter collapse into chaos or conquered by rival races of the universe, necessary steps are needed to be taken by the Irken race if it hopes to remain dominant.

In any case, the Almighty Tallest saw not power in numbers, but through intimidation...and secrecy. Though a full-scale military and armada were necessary for total conquest of planets, races, and the protection of them, there were some assignments and scenarios that called for a little more…finesse than ground forces numbering in the thousands or fragile situations that would be completely forgone by the Armada.

What they had in mind was a unit solid in faith in the Irken Empire and the Almighty Tallest, uncompromised soldiers that would willingly give their lives if need be for the good of the mission, and do the bidding of the highest powers in the Irken Empire.

This secret sect of a unit would be known as many things throughout the common ranks of the Irken military, such as "The "Shadow's Might" and "The Tallests' Fist", but due to the…nature of their operation, much of what they would do and would be responsible for would remain a mystery to the common Irken. This was yet another desired effect of the unit, only reporting directly to the Almighty Tallest of the Irken Empire, and in rare cases, the Irken Supreme Commander of the Elite Guard for their assignments. T

he fewer Irken that knew of this unit, the better in everyone's best interest. Searching didn't take long to find a competent and fitting leader for such a unit.

A Lieutenant of the Elite Irken Guard, the Empire's most prestigious and well-known fighting force, was called forth, a prime candidate for a special..."assignment" that the Tallest had in store. Vult was a veteran of several campaigns, mainly a survivor of the Praxxus 7 assault that ended in complete catastrophe, for which he swore vengeance.

A tried and true soldier with so much loyalty to the Irken Empire and Almighty Tallest, he would give his life if need be to keep them safe...a prime choice for the Shadow Strikers. This Lieutenant known as Vult graciously accepted his Tallests' request, promoting him to the rank of Commander, but he had one small stipulation to add...that he hand-selected his soldiers.

Not only would it limit the number of those knowledgeable of this unit, but he could put much trust and even his life in their hands for reliance on one another in the field. It didn't take long, but Commander Vult found his soldiers that would make up the Shadow Strikers unit. 9 of the Empire's most diverse, highly-skilled, and even eccentric soldiers were personally handed "transfers" by Commander Vult, and were well on their way out of their mundane lives in the Irken Empire's ranks and thrown into a world shrouded in secrecy, conspiracy, and much, much more awaited them for those who accepted.

Abnormally barren compared to other facilities that constructed and manufactured the spaceships of the mighty Irken Armada, there was one...peculiar looking one docked at the far end, a very sleek and streamlined version of a Spittle Runner Transport craft, simply hovering in its berth at Dock 23-E.

Familiar in shape for the most part, the color scheme vastly conflicted that of the traditional Irken Armada ships, colored a very flat, dull black with dark red accents and trim, it didn't attract attention...as intended. It also seemed to be armed a little heavier than the standard Runner as well. The most noticeable aspect about its design based off the Spittle Runner was the fact that it was much larger in size, but nowhere near the size of the warships in the Armada.

Rummaging around, however, seemed to be several Irken, dressed in their respective unit uniforms, consisting of 6 Irken Elite, a Medical Officer, and Communications Technician. With them was their worldly belongings, all that was provided to them by the Empire.

"I'm assuming that we're all here for the same reason, right?" one of the Irken Elite questioned of the few that stood around him, looking at the ship, "it's the only one here and no one has a clue as to what we're to be doing."

"Did a Commander by the name of Vult belonging to Special Operations approach you about this transfer?"

"Yup," he quickly answered, "I got these orders yesterday and now I'm here, as instructed, just like a good little soldier….name's Haxx, by the way."

Haxx, Sgt. Haxx at that, was a little different than the average soldier. He was of the majority of the Irken population, magenta eyes and placid green skin, antenna of nothing special worth mentioning. He was about average height, shorter than Vult, but within contention, and was broader at the shoulders. Being a Heavy Weapons expert, he was used to lugging around large pieces of equipment, especially his favorite, the Heavy Plasma Repeater. It was a scaled-down version of the HPC in portable form…still rips your arms from your sockets if you weren't ready for it though. Haxx may not have looked it, but he was easily the physically strongest one present.

"Rha," the other nodded, his face seeming to upturned in a permanent scowl. Partially due to his scar that ran down between his eyes and beneath the left, far too wide to be a simple gash. It wasn't fresh by any means, but there was only one place he could have received such a reminder…Praxxus 7.

"Did you just say you're name was Rha?" Haxx snickered, almost instantly feeling the intensity of the other's anger boil. "A bit feminine, don't you think?"

"You got a problem with that?" Rha growled, his claws balled up into fists.

One thing Haxx couldn't stand was being threatened, especially by the likes of this guy.

"What if I do? What are you going to do about it, tough guy?" Haxx responded, ready to see what this lowly Corporal planned on doing. Just about that time, a female Irken stepped between them, pushing them apart.

"Alright, boys, that's enough," she stated, putting distance between them, "no need in killing each other just yet with all this secrecy going on. I'm sure they'll be plenty of stuff you guys can kill and vent some of this anger."

"Just who do you think you are?" Haxx questioned quizzingly, taken back by her…features, but not in the attracted sense. It was impossible to see her eye color through what appeared to be optical devices that were grafted atop them, but still allowed for the usual expression of emotions, complete with a pilot's harness and rigging on her uniform. She was a flyboy, well, flygirl in this case, through and through.

"Rem, Navigator Rem if you want to get technical," she spoke, antenna twitching with pride as she spoke, turning to the ship hovering at dock behind them, "…and I get to pilot that thing, I'm really looking forward to it…and just for the record, I happen to think that Rha is a suitable name for either male or female, Sergeant."

"At least someone else thinks so," Rha said under his breath, turning his attention to the others present, "who else is going on this little cruise and find out just what the Irk is going on?"

Aero motioned towards an extremely short Irken, quite possibly the shortest one anyone had ever seen in person before. He wore goggles over his eyes, as well as communications equipment as he appeared to be talking to no one in particular, except for a small hovering drone next to him. Every time he finished speaking, the drone would react someway by flying around the near space, appearing to give its response.

"That's Vard, apparently who's going to be our Communication Technician. He's a bit shy from what I can tell, but he sure loves that drone thing of his." She spoke, fascinated with the display, but motioned towards another, a reclusive soldier sitting by himself, "I think his name's Tuu or something, he hasn't said a word since I've been here. Plays the mysterious bit all too well if you ask me."

"Who's the short, pissed-off looking one?" Haxx pointed out, about that time, she approached them.

"That's Lieutenant Volx to you, Sergeant," she hissed poisonously, the single scar over her eye didn't help the image she created at all. "Commander Vult and Captain Corr will be here any moment, I suggest the lot of you stop screwing around and come to attention."

"Oh whose authority?" Haxx challenged, leaning down a little into her face.

"I outrank you, Sergeant, so mine," Volx continued without remorse in her words.

"Rank doesn't mean squat, you're like a foot and a half shorter than me, pipsqueak."

"You're lucky I'm more reserved than your friend here, Sergeant," She seethed through clenched teeth, "but watch yourself, you don't want to be on my bad side."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he waved on like it was nothing

"You're in my world now," Volx assured threateningly, "I've been doing this line of work in infiltration and not being a complete moron like yourself since you were a smeet. If you want to survive, I suggest you watch yourself and pay attention, Haxx."

Just as Haxx was about to retort with something, preferably a harsh obscenity in their native language, Corr and Vult approached at a quick pace, both in Spec Ops uniforms.

"Atten-HUH!" He bellowed, the 8 soldiers present falling into line from tallest to shortest as they were always instructed to do. The exception of following Vult's orders, despite his height, was the only difference at the moment. That was the deal, and now they were to see why. "What is this? You're not in the Armada anymore, boys and girls, I do things a little differently here."

Perplexed as to what he meant, he grew impatient as not a single soldier moved.

"By rank, highest to lowest, not height, on the double!"

It took a little longer than he thought, but they were finally at attention correctly now, with Volx first and Rha last, the spread from Lieutenant to Corporal. Corr remained at Vult's side, just as he was to do as second-in-command.

"Good, now that's better." Vult commented, walking slowly up and down the line of soldier, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't even need to force being intimidating, "first o all, I'd like to welcome all of you to your first official day as what Captain Corr and myself have decided to call this unit…Shadow Strikers. Shadow Strikers need no one but their brothers-in-arms. Shadow Strikers are the Empire's finest examples of military prowess the Armada has to offer. We are silent, unheard, and most of all, loyal to the cause….if you don't think you can handle that or aren't up to the grueling tasks ahead of us, step forward. I, nor those present will think nothing less of you, this is a very dangerous and secretive line of work, without support, without aid from your fellow soldiers in the Armada, and everything you do will go unrecognized by the Empire, no matter how heroic. Would anyone like to walk away while they have the chance?"

The line remained a rigid as ever, no one present refusing to give up before it even started. Some, like Aero, had nowhere else to go. Others, such as Corr, saw much opportunity to serve the Irken Empire to the fullest. All of them, however, would have their lives changed as soldiers from this day forward.

"Good, glad to know I chose wisely," Vult beamed inwardly, but still remained unchanged on the surface. "You all have been officially removed from the Armada databases, marked as KIA, you no longer exist, you are ghosts, spirits that strike from the darkness without remorse, without mercy. Your training for such a special assignment will begin promptly, you will learn to not only fight, but to survive, and to rely on only these soldiers to your sides. The Armada's simulators have weakened the primal warrior that resides within all of us…it's time to coax it out in full force. Our enemies, the enemies of the Irken Empire, and enemies of the Almighty Tallest will feel our wrath and be dealt with swiftly. All of you know what I speak of when I say now is the opportunity given to us to seek vengeance for what happened on Praxxus 7, how all of you survived that ordeal, while many around you, friends and acquaintances, did not. Do not let their lives, nor the hundreds of thousands across the galaxy, be in vain."

Vult paused, seeing the determination to seek out what he wanted of them. He wanted veterans of warfare scared of nothing, and he got them. An interesting bunch at best, but they all knew how to do what they were assigned to do, rather well at that.

"Without further delay, from this day forward, you are all official Shadow Strikers, even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows. Let me hear it from you."

"Even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows!" The 8 soldiers sounded off in unison.

"What was that? I can't hear you."

"Even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows!" The group resounded once more with vigor.

"That's more like it," Vult praised, turning to Corr, "Captain, take over from here, time to get things squared away."

"Yes, Sir, Commander," Corr obeyed, seeing that now was business, "Squad, dismissed! Grab your gear and get on the ship. Move it, we don't have all day!"

It was necessary to motivate, but Corr wasn't a fan of traditional superiors as it seemed, constantly yelling and screaming to get things done by those in their command, Corr's own former C.O. was exactly like that.

"Time to see what exactly Commander Vult has planned for us and why all of these security measures and secrecy is necessary," he thought as he followed Rha, the last man of the squad to board the large ship, "I can already tell that things will never be the same again…I'm looking forward to it."


	5. First Blood

"12 long, grueling months have culminated to this day," Vult's voice spoke as he paced up and down the center of the dropship in his usual manner, hands clasped behind his back beneath his PAK. "it has been a year since the formation of this unit, a year paid in blood, sweat, and tears, and a year that has brought all of us one step closer to our vengeance.

Beneath the tutelage of myself and your comrades, you have grown stronger as an individual, and invincible as a unit. Together, we can brave the fiercest storms, survive the harshest conditions, and defeat the strongest enemies. This is but the first step in our futures, and one of many from here on."

The 8 soldiers present, Rem piloting the drop ship, sat 4 to each side of the small, durable craft. At Vult's side stood a SIR unit, or standard-information retrieval unit. They were often given to commanding officers in the field and Spec Ops units, and more recently, an addition to the Invader equipment repertoire.

This SIR unit, however, was quite different from its mass-production counterparts. It was of the Ripper variant, focusing more on combat and defenses as opposed to actual information retrieval, but still adequate in that department. Vult needed both, and he received them. He only wished that Aero hadn't gave it a name, much like she names everything else, no matter what object it is. Thanks to that, the SIR unit also answers to "Mrs. Quackers" and variations of the name. For some odd reason, no matter how much Vard tried, he couldn't erase the directive from its programming to accept that recognition.

Opposed to the traditional shades of gray and silver, Vult's was coated with non-reflective midnight-black, but the eyes remained true with a vibrant crimson. The one, however, had special lenses to eliminate glare and severely repress the illumination the eyes gave off. Everywhere Vult went, the SIR unit followed, much like an obedient pet…but pets didn't pack arsenals of weaponry and were incredibly dangerous.

The dropship was very angular in construction, as opposed the Aramada's bulbous hull designs, primarily built with stealth and defense in mind. It was essentially a heavily armored box to infiltrate and extract, no matter how hot things got.

No longer did they bear their former assigned professions, but their new uniforms that was designed by not just Vult, but the unit acting as one. They were black in color with red edging, a matching helmet combined with a combat mask and visor, hiding their features. Their antenna protruded from their helmets, but were protected in a flexible series of small armor plates, as were the arms, legs, neck, and vital area of the torso. A high collar and trenchcoat-styled skirt added further flexible protection. It was much lighter than any Elite uniform, but just as protective, if not more. They retained the forearm guards and boots the Irken Elite wore, but the Shadow Strikers had a nasty little surprise mounted on both of their forearms…energy blades.

This was a project forged by Corr and Vard, based off of Corr's own passion for ancient warfare. It was based off of weaponry the Irken had used in territorial tribal warfare against one another millennia ago, and was going to be revived in the current day and age. No longer forged from metals, but a contained plasma field, it would render most armor useless.

Once activated, they would produce a blade about a foot and a half long, 4 inches in width, and would taper to a point. It would leave not a trace of what was used to kill other than the cauterized would. It was the perfect covert operations instrument of death.

"Your training was not from a simulator or something thrown together by a superior, but many actions that led to experiences, teachings that you learned on your own, I merely guided you down the path necessary. Prove to me on this assignment that it wasn't for nothing, prove to me that we are the greatest fighting force in the universe ever assembled. Prove to me that the Almighty Tallest' faith was not ill-placed…and prove to yourselves that you aren't just another member of the Irken race, not just another soldier in the Armada…you are perfection incarnate."

"30 seconds until surface drop," Rem's voice, all business and no play at this point filtered through their closed communications. It didn't matter at this point if it was to push the nervousness back in their minds or to further instill them with bravery. The dropship was screaming through the atmosphere, preparing to land planetside on Praxxus 7, without support, a mere 10 soldiers trained to operate alone and in secrecy, against Vortian strongholds with garrisons numbering in the hundreds of thousands. If secrecy was completely compromised…they would never leave this planet again and add to the Irken casualty collective that was already staggering on this filthy ball of rock that orbited Vort.

"Just as we discussed and planned," Vult continued, knowing that any sane Irken felt the fluttering of their spooches at moments like this, as did he, but tried to not show it, especially in command, "we go in quietly, split up into two fire teams, and advance simultaneously. Corr," The Irken Commander garnered the second-in-command's full attention.

"Sir!"

"You'll lead one team, consisting of Tuu, Aero, Vard, and Rha. Volx, Haxx, Sula, and Rem…all of you are with me. Corr's team will knock out the communications array so they can't send for help, and then proceed to the planetary defensive systems. Once there, take it out so the invading forces that are due for Operation Impending Doom II don't get slaughtered by artillery.

My team is going to hit the power generation facilities. We'll take away their eyes and ears, and put them in the dark. Blind, deaf, and confused, chaos will ensue, and victory will be at hand for the Irken Empire. Everyone understand your objectives?"

A series of salutes and nodding was all that responded, signaling they were ready for anything at this point.

"10 seconds to drop, deactivating cloaking, lowering rear ramp." Rem's voice filtered through their helmet commlinks once more as she began expertly keying in several commands and flips of switches in the complex craft. "Green light, clear for deployment."

The dropship still screamed mere feet above the terrain, luckily it was smooth though. With weapons in hand, a long-range target acquisition rifle was on Tuu's back in a harness, Aero seemingly overladen with anti-vehicle measures and tools to do so, Vard's height was increased dramatically with the aid of the communications antenna that jutted from the sides of his helmet and backpack, and Rha had the necessary explosive ordnance to bring the structures down for the objective, plasma rifle in hand.

"Don't forget to tuck and roll," Haxx commented over the radio with a smirk beneath his mask, unseen by his comrades. It showed in his voice though. "Could be a bumpy ride if you don't."

"Stow it, Sergeant," Volx snapped, the ire that she held for him knew no bounds. Even after 12 months of training and so-called "bonding" as a unit, there was no love lost between the two of them. "this is not a time for games."

"All of you, knock it off," Vult ordered, getting silence, turning to watch as one after another, the soldiers of Corr's fireteam jumped off the lowered ramp and rolled to a safe stop on the terrain, holding position to regroup. "Alright Rem, put us down near the generator facility."

"Yes, Sir," she obeyed, bringing the dropship in a gentle banking turn, placing it in an outcropping of rocks and boulders, nestling it within for concealment.

The remaining members of the unit were on their feet, gathering their equipment. Haxx lugged his Heavy Plasma Repeater onto the firing harness, making it somewhat more manageable, while the others prepared their plasma rifles. Sula's uniform contained many pockets bulging with medical supplies, hopefully enough to take care of any imaginable injury or wound in the field, or at least stabilize for that matter. Rem wore her flight harness over her uniform, enabling her to simply hop into whatever transportation they required and pilot it without hesitation. Volx merely clutched her plasma rifle in hand, assuring the power cell was locked in place and ready to fire.

Vult's fireteam exited the craft, sealing it up until they were to return. Spread out in a defensive manner, they assured that their position hadn't been compromised before the mission was even off the ground.

"Perimeter secure, Commander," Volx's icy voice whispered over the commlink, giving a thumbs up without making eye contact to assure it.

"Corr, what's your status?" Vult questioned, checking on the other fireteam.

"En route to communications array facilities, stand by," he calmly replied.

"Understood," Commander Vult acknowledged, signaling for his team to move out with a quick wave of his hand.

In silence, they pressed forward, following the objective waypoint marked on their HUD. Their visor did more than simply protect their eyes, but aided them in battle as well. A digital readout of their own vitals, as well as quick access to the units' for Vult, was a tool developed by Sula to further help her in delivering aid to her squadmates. Waypoint marking and other navigation features, including radar and motion tracking, were a culmination of Rem and Volx's ideas. Encrypted communications and readouts via scanning objects was the brainchild of Vard, whom had already impressed Vult greatly with his technical prowess.

More or less of his design, but a necessity, Haxx was the first to suggestion rangefinding and autotargeting with the visor. It was a necessary, multipurpose, all-in-one tool for survival for them. Combined with their specialty training that would put the most seasoned Spec Ops to shame…they were a force to be reckoned with.

After several clicks of covert operation, Vult's unit finally came up on the generator facility. With a raised fist, a hand signal for "stop", they ceased movement on a dime and awaited further instruction. Like a well-oiled machine, it all came as second-nature to them. Assured that they were safe for the moment, he prepared to contact Corr again.

"How's that Comm. array coming along, Captain?"

"In position, awaiting signal disruption and block," Corr's voice came though, Vult almost seeing his second-in-command turn to Vard, "how much longer, Sergeant?"

"Only…a matter of…moments, Sir," Vard spoke as he continued to type away furiously at his holographic projection that took the form of a computer terminal from his forearm. "This security is shoddy at best…might as well make things a little more…interesting while I'm at it."

"What do you plan on doing?" Corr questioned cautiously, not sure of his motives.

"All communications, outgoing or incoming, are…blocked," he announced, his spy drone equally as pleased with his work, "now re-writing commands for automated defensive measures….done."

Just as soon as he finished keying in the line of code, turrets seemed to come to life all around the complexes, but not aimed at the Shadow Strikers. In the distance, the plasma turrets came to life, as well as the horrifying screams as Vortians were being cut down.

"Should make things a little easier for us," Vard continued, "I reprogrammed them to fire on anything organic of Vortian DNA…a little bit of chaos never hurt anyone, well…except them, that is."

Aero simply shook her head at the much shorter Vard. He was an odd one, very shy and tended to be off to the side as much as possible. Sure, he was incredibly talented at his profession, frightening at that, but when training was over with for the day or even during mess, he'd always keep to himself. It was amazing that an Irken of his stature was able to accomplish such daunting tasks without a second thought. She had tried to converse with him on many occasions out of curiosity, just to get to know her fellow teammates better, but he always found some way of running off, more scared than anything. The fact that she dwarfed him was a valid reason, but Aero had always considered herself to be quite friendly and outgoing towards her squadmates…except for Volx, of course.

It didn't matter though, there would be time for bonding and questions later, her full focus was required, and a moment's hesitation would cost her life if she wasn't careful.

"Understood," Vult stated, seeing things were moving smoothly and on schedule thus far, "knock that array out of commission for good and proceed on mission. Maintain radio silence from this point on, call for extract once the planetary defensive emplacements are taken care of."

"Roger that, Commander," The Irken Captain answered to his superior, motioning for his team to press forth once more. "You heard him, time to put our gear to the test, move out."

Corr's hand allowed his rifle to stay within grasp on its webbing on his person, and keyed in a command on his other forearm, the piece of equipment beginning to hum lowly as it seemed to begin generating the necessary power. Slowly, but surely, his physical appearance began to dissipate into a transparent manner before completely vanishing from sight, no outline or manipulation of light. The others in his fireteam followed suit, vanishing from view.

"Visual check," Corr requested, deactivating his visor, allowing it to split down the middle and slide to either side, an unobstructed and natural view with his eyes.

As intended, there wasn't a soul in sight around him. The "thumbs up" gesture seemed to be the default for a range of things, and in this case, "good to go".

He reactivated the visor, allowing it to slide into place and lock once more, powering up. As if they were simply standing there before him in plain sight, his team appeared once more. "So far, so good on the cloaking technology…" He said to himself, beginning a steady trot of a run to the communications array, a massive satellite dish with a series of antenna that jutted from the center of it. As intended, it was Praxxus 7's communication relay to Vort, the only lifeline that the mining/military colony held, and if severed, could prove disastrous…for the Vortians. Transmissions were already being blocked, and the soldiers stationed at the facility were already distracted by the "malfunctioning" turret system, all that remained was to secure they wouldn't call for help once the Shadow Striker Unit was compromised…if that were to happen.

"Rha, you're on," Corr beckoned over their commlink.

"With pleasure, Sir," he deviously commented, producing a series of devices from his belt. They were small and circular in design, but the size would fool anyone at exactly how devastatingly powerful they were. While the rest of the fireteam watched and provided cover for Rha, he went about his methodical work of planting them on critical supporting points around the dish, giving a simple turn of the dial to arm them for remote detonation.

Within a matter of minutes, he had placed a few dozen about the dish and its supports, assuring its total destruction when the time came.

"Charges placed, Captain," Rha coolly informed as he planted the last one, "primed and ready to be fired, just give the order."

"Understood, Corporal," Corr answered, turning to Aero, Vard, and Volx. "We'll rendezvous with you at the next objective, Corr out."

A prompt signal to move out spurred them to action, quickly traversing the terrain of Praxxus 7. Even a year after the bloodbath of an invasion that took place on this moon's rocky soil, the reminders remained. Seeming to care for only their own casualties, Irken corpses by the hundreds, even thousands at times, littered the expanses, ranging in stages of decomposition. Those farthest along were nothing more than tattered remains of a uniform, a skeleton, and rusted, charred metal debris from the PAK after it self-destructed in order to prevent its technology from being used by others.

It was disgusting, as well as infuriating to see soldiers of the Empire left to rot in the suns of the Vort system, another grim reminder of the toils of war. What separated the Shadow Strikers from them was that they returned for revenge on those who wrought this, and refused to join their comrades that lay before them in morbid fashion.

Husks of vehicles and crumbled remains of battlemechs, were scattered about as well, a literal graveyard for Irken and machine alike, and a reminder for the Vortians of the day they sent the most powerful army of the universe in full retreat.

Never again…

Corr attempted to swallow his anger as he gripped his rifle even tighter, rage pulsing through every inch of his body. The mission came first above all, but he wished for nothing more than to put a plasma bolt through every single, last Vortian to make even the smallest impact in what they took from them tenfold.

"Corr?" Aero's voice finally came through, her figure waving her hand in front his face. "you alright? You spaced out there for a second."

"Yeah…I'm fine," he lied, quickly taking into account their surroundings, as well as that Rha was present with them once more. They all quickly became rigid as they pressed against the wall of the Planetary Defenses Control facility, a duo of guards on patrol coming their direction. Out of reaction, Corr still gave the signal for "hold", but it was from memory the thing to do in this situation. Outnumbered or not, they could still raise the alarm and blow their cover.

"Something's not right." One of them spoke, a little taller than his cohort whom was walking beside him.

"What do you mean?" The shorter responded.

"Think about it…first the communications array is malfunctioning and, conveniently, the turrets go haywire and start shooting our own soldiers. Before they cut the power to them, they already killed like 10 of us. If you ask me, something is about to go down…something bad."

"You're overreacting," the shorter continued in ignorance, "who would possibly come and pick a fight? We already sent the Irken Empire running, tail between their legs, who in their right mind would mess with us after that?"

"…I guess you're right, still hard to believe that we killed so many of them…most powerful race of the universe, my foot."

"Do it, Rha," Corr finally said, unaware of the growl in his voice as the two Vortian sentries only mere feet from him essentially taunted him.

With a simple pull of the remote trigger, the communications array a few hundred meters away ignited in a brilliant blue-white explosion, vaporizing most of the structure instantly. As the two of them were distracted and awestruck with disbelief, Corr signaled with a quick jerk across the throat, promptly lunging forward thereafter. Aero joined him in the sneak attack.

The first victim to fall was on Corr's blade, the glowing, magenta plasma ran the Vortian through the chest out of nowhere, lifting him free of the ground as he did so. The other turned in horror to watch his comrade be silenced by an unforeseen force, attempting to take aim at whatever was attacking…until his throat was slit in quick fashion. As opposed to standard-issue vibroblades, there was no mess, only neatly, cauterized wounds, and very little sound. The two guards feel simultaneously. Their attention quickly turned from the motionless sentries to the now roiling flames the remnants of the dish, klaxon alarms sounding all around the facility.

"Objective confirmed destroyed," Corr made note on his mission recorder for debriefing, "Rha, set the charges on this place and we're ready for extraction."

Rha simply went about his business once more, methodically planting the charges at key points around the building to guarantee its destruction.

"Sir, multiple contacts incoming on our position," Vard motioned to a series of running Vortian figures, over a dozen at the very least. "They're going to run right into us."

Corr's leadership instincts naturally took over as opposed to simply completing the mission. He survived this wretched planet once already, he wasn't going to allow it to take his life this time either.

"Tuu, slot them and keep them at bay," he ordered, turning his attention back to Rha, "Corporal, hurry up with those charges, we don't have all day!"

"Yes, Sir," was said in unison by both Tuu and Rha. Tuu rarely spoke, and it was usually just to reply to his superiors.

Taking aim, Tuu fired a single plasma bolt with a distinct crack as the powerful round pierced the air at incredible speed. The first Vortian victim took the full force between the eyes and was dropped immediately, causing the others to scatter for cover. While Tuu kept them pinned, Aero and Vard aiding as well, Rha finished up placing the charges on the structure, arming the last one.

"That's it, Sir, they're placed and ready to blow," he informed, running over, preparing to take cover and aid his squadmates with lethal accuracy. It seemed as if no matter what the Vortians did, whatever was exposed was shot off or in. If they were lucky, it was from the standard plasma rifles that Rha, Vard, and Aero possessed, and not Tuu's rifle. With a nod from behind cover of a boulder the trio was using for cover, Corr pressed his commlink button.

"Commander, Sir, objectives complete, requesting extraction, over," he calmly uttered, wary of his surroundings so they wouldn't be surrounded. "Our stealth has been compromised, under fire, requesting immediate extraction, over."

"Understood, Captain," Vult's voice responded, about that time, a series of explosions rocked the other side of the complex, watching as the generator facility collapsed in on itself, power fluctuating, and then promptly shrouding everything in darkness. "generators are offline and defenses are down, proceed to extraction point, over."

"Affirmative, Commander, Corr out," the Irken Captain responded, tapping each of them on the shoulder since they didn't seem to hear the order. "Time to move."

While returning fire, the fireteam, one by one, moved from their position and proceeded to the predetermined extraction point, sprinting as plasma bolts dotted the landscape around them, a grenade going off far too close every now and again. It didn't matter if their cloaking was active or not at this point, the Vortians surely understood what was going on and have the proper equipment to see them anyway…they were the ones that created the technology to begin with anyway, and learned it was a mistake the hard way to share such marvels with the Irken during their former alliance.

"Hit it, Corporal," Corr ordered as calm as ever, despite the situation, promptly hearing and feeling a series of _thumps_ as the facility went up, leaving the sprawling base blind, deaf, and defenseless…just as planned. They would indeed be slaughter in the coming madness of the Armada, a righteous and most-deserving fate for what took place a year ago on this very planet.

The dropship quickly came into view, hovering mere inches off the ground as the rear door opened, Vult and Sula quickly offering hands to boost Corr and his team into the ship.

One by one, they were literally pulled into the ship, quickly taking their seats and strapping in. Rha was the last through the door, falling down on the deck of the ship as the door slammed shut.

"We're in, Rem, get us out of here!" Vult commanded towards the cockpit.

"Hold on, we're in for a bumpy ride," she responded as she began running through the various switches and pre-flight necessities, then promptly pulling the nose skyward, blasting the ship out of the atmosphere and back into space at blinding speed.

A moment silence overtook them all, not out of reverence, but sheer disbelief of what they accomplished. In traditional combat, it would have taken thousands of soldiers with formidable casualties to assault such a complex and successfully destroyed and crippled it with a mere 10 soldiers, and not a single casualty at that.

"On approach to dock with the ship," Rem informed, the joy clearly expressed in her voice as she spoke.

"Everyone good, no wounds?" Vult questioned of them, looking around at all their faces as they removed helmets, wiping perspiration from their brows as he helped Rha to his feet. A minute smile crept across his face at his soldiers. He may not have said it, but he was very proud of them and their accomplishment this evening. "You did it, boys and girls, you really did it…mission accomplished. Just as you trained meticulously for this day, it all paid off, and done something that no Irken has ever done before. You returned to what many sane soldiers would have run from, and took a nightmare head-on without fear or remorse…I can't argue with the results."

"Yeah…we did do it, didn't we?" Aero finally spoke up, grinning from ear-to-ear, "this calls for a celebration…with your permission, of course, Commander."

"…I have been putting back some of the finest, vintage spirits for such an occasion, Aero," he continued to smirk, "what better way to rejoice than to relax with a drink?"

"Now you're speaking my language, Sir," Haxx chuckled, everyone but Volx finding it amusing.

"What about the debriefing, Commander?" Corr spoke up, hating to be a buzzkill, but business was business.

"What about it, Corr?" The Irken Commander smiled, something he rarely done, "the Tallest can wait for their after-action report, it's not like they're worrying themselves about us or waiting on it."

Sadly…he had a point. The Almighty Tallest may have been the supreme beings of their race or revered to be, but they cared very little for their loyal subjects, yet, there was a hint of venom in Vult's voice, barely detectable, but Corr could tell it from his usual tone. He would make a note of it for future reference to ask him why he felt so about them. For now though…it was time to celebrate.

The Shadow Strikers returned to their mobile base of operations, the super-sized and streamlined Spittle Runner that serviced them for every possible need for their assignments. Quick travel around the universe, personal quarters, training grounds, spacious hangar, defensive turrets for protection, comm. arrays to pick up and spy on signals…everything necessary to the mission or training. Rem may have piloted the vessel, expertly at that, but she and Aero fought over what it was to be named since the tallest Irken of the unit had a fetish with naming things, so it seemed. Ultimately, the pilot won out in the end and chose a more…suiting name, "The Ghost of Irk" to allude to the nature of their assignments. You don't even want to know what Aero wanted to call the ship they call home.

The stowing and squaring away of gear went on methodically as they had drilled, knowing it was a safety hazard and disaster waiting to happen carrying around loaded weapons. As instructed, still in uniform though, minus their helmets, all 10 soldiers were present in the mess hall.

Much like the rest of the ship, it was tailored to custom specifications, and the mess hall was more homely than the average Armada mess onboard its vessels. Considering what they were to be put through and forced to live aboard a vessel instead of traditional barracks, it was compromise made well by those that constructed the ship. More or less standing about, they watched as Vult produced 10 glasses, pouring a dark, viscous liquid into each.

"Alright, all of you take one," he gestured, picking up one himself, swirling it around. "I propose a toast…to you…all of you."

Their minute chattered died down to silence.

"This success is meaningful, for it is our first, and the first of many to come. Our enemies, the Empire's enemies, will quake with fear as the fable of the Shadow Strikers spreads far and wide. An enemy they cannot possibly fathom, a force that cannot be stopped, and a death they will not see coming. Even in plain sight…"

They all raised their glasses above their heads, proud was an understatement.

"-we are in the shadows!" They all exclaimed, a battle mantra that they all had come to know and boost morale and confidence in one another, as well as themselves. In unison, Vult and his secret unit of Spec Ops soldiers tipped their glasses skyward, downing the drink. When he said it was potent, he wasn't kidding. When he celebrated, he made sure it was fitting.

"Sir, if I say so myself," Rem commented, planting the glass down once more, "that is damn good stuff."

"There's plenty to go around," he chuckled, producing a few more bottles of it, "I figured since the ship's on autopilot, you all can have a couple days of relaxation on the way to Irk. I think we may make it before the Great Assigning for Impending Doom II."

"_Y'fevd Mirdu_," Haxx swore as he coughed, patting his chest as he choked it down, "that stuff's strong, what is it? Ship fuel?"

"What's the matter, Haxx, you a little smeet or something?" Rem taunted, everyone except Volx, as usual, finding it amusing. "Maybe you should go to sleep early too and let the grown-ups have fun."

"I can handle my booze, Rem," he challenged, thrusting a thumb into his chest defiantly.

"Oh really?" She stepped up playfully, gently pushing him in good spirits, "I've never met an Irken that can outdrink me yet…you think you're up to snuff?"

Without a word, Haxx spun one of the seats around, sitting in it backwards at the table.

"Bring it on," the Irken male continued confidently, the room seeming to divide by gender as Vult and Corr simply watched on neutrally in amusement.

"Commander, Sir," Corr beckoned, garnering his superior's attention.

"Hmm? Yes, Corr, what is it?"

"I'd like to…thank you, Sir," He began, trying to find the words, "you presented me…everyone with an opportunity to get revenge for what happened on Praxxus 7, but during training…I found something more than that. Now that we settled the score and prepared it for invasion in a matter of hours, the anger, the rage, it isn't there anymore, but replaced by the honorable duty of serving the Irken Empire, of serving the Almighty Tallest, and most important to me…to serve under you."

Vult was taken aback by that for a moment. He truly didn't know what to say. Up until this point, he thought of them as his unit, each of them important and equal to the last, but only on that scale and nothing more.

"I know it's difficult for you, well, for any of us to truly grasp, Commander," Corr continued, "but the concept of parents and family has escaped our people for quite some time with how things are now. I truly think that this is the closest thing to a family that any of us are ever going to have, my brothers and sisters of battle, and you, Sir…are like a father."

"Well…I do teach all of you things you need to know, you teach one another, and learn from your mistakes, very few, I might add. Well, from what I remember in training of our history…I do suppose we are a family, Corr, and from what I understand, families have to stick together, right?"

Vult offered his glass, Corr clinking his own against it gently in a toast between them.

"Yes, Sir, Commander," He smirked, "through it all, through thick and thin…we must remain and act as one."

These 10 soldiers of varying backgrounds that came throughout the Irken Armada's ranks, united in secrecy and dedication to their leaders, and protect their values until their dying breaths. They were something more than a unit, as Corr put it, a family, a living, breathing entity that flowed from one Irken to the other, that relied on one another for survival, and protected themselves from threats, both foreign and domestic.

Tonight, however, was a joyous occasion, and to be enjoyed as such.

Unknown to them, however, it would be one of the last they would experience with the oncoming of Operation Impending Doom II. The true test of training and wills about to begin.


	6. Diversionary Surprises

"Well…" Corr drew out, checking the time, "it's very late, and I think you had better be on your ways."

"We can't leave now, Professor," DZ replied, still awed by the tale that was spoken thus far, "so much has happened, things I didn't even think were possible, no offense to you of course, Sir, but behind this veil of secrecy."

"So far, it does make sense," Digits, the logical one, added with a nod, "Praxxus 7 was always described in history as this impenetrable fortress, up until it fell in a matter of 6 hours. If that's true, then it does prove your story correct, Sir, especially if a full-on invasion was stopped dead in its tracks after 14 grueling hours of combat, and a return a year later in less than 6…there's no other way imaginable."

"I'd like to think I'm a bit modest," Corr smirked, "but Impending Doom II would have been a crushing repeat of what took place before, even if Zim hadn't meddled before. The Armada hadn't fully recovered yet and the Tallest at the time were growing impatient, hence the rushed nature of Impending Doom II. Praxxus 7 was a morale boost for the entire Armada, and propelled many victories for the previous Irken Empire."

"So your unit, these…Shadow Strikers," Joker concluded, still finding it difficult to grasp the story, "were essentially responsible for the sheer success of the second Praxxus 7 campaign, a mere 10 soldiers, no support of any kind, against an entire moon's defenses?"

"…Yes, that's correct," Corr replied nonchalantly, as to him, it was just another day at the office. "Cadets, I hate to rush you, but you must return to your bunks, it's already late as it is, and I'm sure your drill in-"

Heavy, rapid bangs against the metal door echoed in the silence, startling the three of them. Corr seemed to expect it…it was only a matter of time, after all. With a simple press of the button on his desk, he unlocked the door, allowing it to slide into its recess above the frame.

Sergeant Gis wasn't the tallest Irken you had ever seen, but he was frightening to say the least. More stout than anything, his small stature emphasized it greatly. His grit teeth and squinted emerald eyes only hardened that much more at the sight of his three missing Cadets.

"Atten-HUH!" He boomed, the three of them scrambling to their feet, Joker tripping on his helmet before tucking it under his arm to join his comrades at attention. "What the Irk do the three of you think you're doing, huh?"

"Sir!" DZ spoke confidently, assuming command as he was squad leader, "I take full responsibility for being out of our bunks past lights out. I won't make an excuse, Sir, but I will explain…Professor Corr was telling us of his pa-"

"I apologize, Sergeant, it was my fault, I summoned for them after they were through with their drills for the day to finish a lecture that we began in class earlier this day." Corr calmly spoke to the fuming Gis.

"Apology or not, regs are regs, Professor," Gis attempted civility, snapping his attention back to his Cadets, "as for you three…you're lucky I'm in a good mood…1 week, mess hall duty."

"Ah, come on, Sergea-"Joker complained.

"You want latrine duty, Cadet?" He interrupted, startling him as he got in his face.

"No, Sir! Mess hall is a very fitting punishment, Sir!" Joker straightened up, shuddering within at the idea of clearing the latrines for a week.

"Good, all of you hit the bunk, tomorrow starts bright and early, you'll wish you were in that bed when you were supposed to be, I guarantee you that…dismissed." Gis assured, thrusting a finger towards the door.

Heel-to-toe, the procession marched out in orderly fashion as instructed, leaving Gis and Corr in the room.

"So, Commander, Sir? Gis began, noticing how alive the old-timer looked, the most in a long time, "…I see you're in chipper spirits."

"You can say that, Sergeant," Corr nodded with a smile as he began packing his belongings. "It's nice to see some respectful smeets these days, I'm sure I can thank you for their discipline."

"Discipline is what keeps you alive, Sir," Gis spoke from experience, or so it seemed. Good advice from a good friend. "…so you decided to tell them, didn't you?"

"…Yeah…I did," Corr admitted, knowing instantly what the Sergeant spoke of. There was an inner circle that was knowledgeable of the Shadow Strikers throughout the Irken Republic, and Corr had previously let Gis in on the secret, more or less to save himself hassle in the long run. Gis understood the weight that information carried, and if he was to spread it unrestricted…things, very…unfortunate things could happen. Enough time had passed, and now was as good as any to begin.

Unlike Gis though, the three Cadets were getting the full story, not just the simple facts. "…it's been 100 years, now is a good a time as any, better before I don't have a chance to tell anyone, I am old, after all."

"I hate to admit it, Sir, but it is the inevitable, so until then, we'll make the best of it," Gis offered, not wanting to bring his high spirits down.

"Yes, yes," Corr nodded in agreement as he finished collecting his belongings and prepared to go home for the day, "…besides, I haven't got to the best part yet."

"I've never seen so many Irken in once place before," Vult thought, Corr and the Ripper SIR unit that seemed to answer to the name of "Mrs. Quackers", courtesy of Aero's naming conventions.

Speaking of conventions, he had never been to Conventia, the Irken Empire's convention hall planet, usually playing host to affairs on a grand scale. The Great Assigning was no different. Almighty Tallest Red and Purple's inauguration had been the previous event, but event his eclipsed that on sheer scale. Over half of the Armada was present, millions upon millions of Irken gathered for the announcement of Operation Impending Doom II, a re-hash of the first, minus one infamous Invader's meddling…or so Commander Vult thought.

"Where are the Tallest, Sir?" Corr asked as they walked side by side, making their way through the masses of Irken finding their way back to their ships to join the fleet.

"Well, hopefully they haven't boarded their ship yet. I'd rather not have to chase them down halfway across the galaxy," Vult honestly admitted, avoiding speaking ill of his leaders, but it was almost begging for it, "but it won't be surprising with the Massive just recently completed though…they are easily entertained."

"Have faith, Sir," Corr backed up, "I'm sure with everything that is going on, they are still here, especially with the Invaders and all."

"Invaders? Corr, please, don't insult us," Vult defended himself mainly, "they are over-glorified forward scouts and spies, nothing more. Soldiers win wars, not Invaders. Invaders need no one? That is the biggest load of tripe I've ever heard. They are a joke of the Irken Elite, to be quite honest. I suppose I can thank the propaganda machine for that one."

"I…apologize, Commander, I didn't realize you felt so strongly about them, I didn't mean anything by it."

"I know, Captain, but I would just like to remind you that we are the best and will remain so. Even in plain sight…"

"We stay to the shadows," Corr immediately responded with a smirk, turning to the SIR unit. "Isn't that right, SIR?"

"Yes, Sir, Captain," it responded in a dark, artificial voice.

It was hard to miss them towering over the sea of green heads and antenna not too far ahead, Irken Elite in Invader uniform seeming to be receiving their standard SIR units. Vult's was before the production run and highly modified. In truth, much of what the Shadow Strikers had done thus far was various testing of equipment and technology. Thankfully it had been successful for the most part, and he hoped it remained that way in their possession. The two Irken Spec Ops and SIR unit approached the imperial leaders at the equipping station.

"Yes, yes, these SIR units will provide you with the necessary data to conquer your assigned worlds," Red assured, motioning, "now off you go…to your worlds…away from here."

Purple seemed to watch as the Invaders filed out, small robots in tow.

"…okay, they're gone," he commented, watching as his co-ruler's face instantly went from a smile to a depressed, unenthused frown.

"Finally, I can only take so much annoyance in one day."

"My Tallest," Vult called for attention, clearing his throat.

The two leaders turned in unison to face him and Corr, the SIR unit instantly snapping a salute to the leaders.

"Ah, Commander," Red began, his mood lightening slightly, "what news do you bring?"

Vult offered this small circular disk to Tallest Red to accept. He only did so after assuring that no one else was around them, knowing that the Tallest prided the Shadow Strikers for the secrecy they demanded of them. Without it, they were just an over-privileged Spec Ops squad. Being the best demanded more of them.

"This is the after-action report for our operations at Praxxus 7, My Tallest," he proudly beamed, watching as Red activated the holo-disc, the information and data scrolling before him. "As you can clearly see, the mission was a resounding success, and the advance Armada vessels should be landing planetside and prepping it as a staging point for the assault on Vort."

"Impressive, Commander, most impressive indeed," Red admitted, but his tone didn't match his words. He was never one for praising the "help" as he so often referred to the empire he led alongside Tallest Purple. "This will do very nicely for Invader Larb, actually having aid within striking distance. He is tasked with taking it ov-"

Vult was confused as to why he stopped speaking, Tallest Red's gaze looking at the incredibly short Irken that was marching confidently up to them, a rather strange looking SIR unit at his side. It was undeniable as to who it was, especially after what he had done before. It took all of Vult's restraint and respect for the Tallest to not rip him limb from limb with his bare hands.

"What are you still doing here, Zim?" Purple asked, annoyed, Red equal in expression. "Why aren't you going towards your doom, er, I mean, your mission planet?"

"No, My Tallest," his shrill voice responded very energetically, "I have not left yet."

"Clearly," Red sarcastically spoke, leaning down to be closer to the small Irken's face, "what do you want, Zim?"

Vult finally spoke up, more awestruck at seeing Zim than anything.

"I thought he was banished, why is he at the Great Assigning?"

Red placed his head in his palm, shaking his head. "…It's a long story," Purple answered, turning attention back to Zim. "You already have your mission, a SIR unit, and my sandwich…go…now."

"My Tallest, I have returned to see if you have any special requests of Zim for this ungodly planet that has no name, Zim's secret mission." He continued, despite being told to go away several times. Referring to himself in 3rd person only added to the annoyance.

"No!" Red and Purple both denied in unison, Tallest Red taking over, "Just…go, Zim. Contact us once you…establish a base or something. Just…leave, please."

"Yes, My Tallest, I shall," he finally obeyed, but it didn't last long, "who knows? By then I may have already conquered it."

Before either of the Irken leaders could mouth a response, he had turned about and began marching away, the strange SIR bounding after him.

"I know you are very busy, My Tallest, so moving on," Vult began, finally rid of the annoyance. "Now that my team has softened Praxxus 7 up significantly for the coming invasion, I am cur-"

"WAIT, WAIT, MY TALLEST!!! WAIT!!!" Zim screamed, sprinting back as if it was the end of the universe. "WAIT FOR ZIM!!!"

"What is it now, Zim?" Red grinded his teeth, almost certain that he was accomplishing the task literally.

"Tank?" Zim almost begged, making grabbing hands with his claws as he wiggled his fingers.

"No," Purple denied, Red shaking his head in agreement.

"What?!" The small Irken demanded, feeling betrayed.

"No tanks, Zim," Tallest Red made clear, "they're for battle-hardened soldiers, like Commander Vult here, not Invaders."

"…come again?" He requested, unable to comprehend what his leaders just said…or he simply wasn't paying attention. "Why no tanks for Zim?!"

"No," they reiterated, becoming visibly frustrated.

"But I am Zim!!!...and I really want one," he finished in a child like matter. It was a miracle that this Irken was an Invader…and not deactivated for being incredibly inept.

"No Zim, go away," Purple made abundantly clear that was their stance on the issue, even attempting to wave him off. Tallest Red's blood was boiling by this point.

"Huh?" The little Irken dumbfoundedly questioned.

"GO…NOW, ZIM!!!" Red finally blew up, shaking his fists, finally pointing towards the boarding of the docking ring. "just…go." He growled, eye twitching violently.

Who was going to stop him if he decided to strangle the life from Zim? He was the leader of the universe's most powerful empire after all.

"Fine, I shall go for now," Zim beamed, even in defeat in his attempt to acquire battle tanks, "but I shall call back and hopefully you will reconsider. ZIM IS AWAY NOW, MOVE YOU WRETCH!!!" Zim exclaimed, shoving past Commander Vult, enough to move him, as well enough to further agitate him at his sheer disrespect. It was quite the feat all in its own, Zim was half Vult's size, and it took a considerable amount of force to move him, he would give him that much. Even in the regular Armada ranks, Vult would be of a higher rank, no questions asked, and would have earned Zim a write-up, and in this case, a beating for insubordination.

"Sure, whatever, just go…far away from us," Tallest Purple declared.

Corr was more surprised at his commanding officer at being so reserved, simply straightening his uniform back out, peering through angered slits of eyes as the Invader marched away, hopefully for the last time. It seemed even he too knew that Vult would have quickly ended Zim's existence without remorse if they hadn't been in the presence of their leaders.

"As Tallest Purple said, Commander…it's a long story," Red explained, regaining his composure, "one that you shouldn't trouble yourself with."

"I've already forgotten what has taken place, My Tallest," Vult calmly informed, Corr seeming to be the only one that noticed his words didn't match his visage, "now, as I was trying to say before that Invader rudely interrupted, Praxxus 7 has been opened up for the invasion forces. Take the moon, and it is a staging ground for Vort, just as planned in Operation Impending Doom I."

"Yes, yes, of course," Red agreed, Tallest Purple nodding as well, "but your team is no longer needed for the Praxxus 7 campaign, regular Armada forces will take over from here."

"So what is our next course of action then, My Tallest?" Vult asked of his leaders, struck odd that only after one assignment on the enemy world, they would be sent elsewhere. It didn't matter though, orders were orders, and he vowed to follow them, no matter what.

The Tallest began hovering mere inches off the ground, apparently towards boarding the docking ring.

"Come Commander, walk with us, we'll explain as we go. We're already behind schedule as it is," Red informed.

Vult, Corr, and the SIR unit obediently obeyed, marching at their side.

"Yeah, we're supposed to be watching Praxxus 7 getting pummeled into oblivion by the Armada by now," Tallest Purple pouted, "we can thank Zim for that one."

"There will be plenty of destruction left by the time we arrive," Red assured his co-ruler, turning his attention back to Vult, "we actually have an assignment set for you, very similar to what took place on Praxxus 7. Your team will be the preemptive strike against Vort. Granted, it is considerably larger than Praxxus 7, as well as heavily defended, and contains a denser population. All you need to do is open up a gap in that defensive network over the planet's surface so the Armada can land ground forces planetside and begin the attack."

"Of course, My Tallest, I shall ma-"

"First things first though," Purple interrupted, handing Vult a different holo-disc, "it appears we have an issue with Irken abandoning their posts."

Vult pressed the activation button, a holographic image of a female Irken began rotating, as well as information regarding her assignment and whereabouts scrolled. She was a little above average height of the Irken population, close to Vult's, and possessed deep violet eyes. The information was very vague at best, but from a visual standpoint, he could tell she had some kind of implant or augmentation.

"Not long ago, we received word that this Janitorial Drone had abandoned her post on Planet Dirt for an unknown reason." Red began, motioning towards the hologram, "I suggested that we remotely deactivated her, but someone," he emphasized, motioning towards his co-ruler, "thinks it looks more…merciful to simply recover her and put her back at her post."

"It's always violence with you," Purple defended, "why don't you try showing compassion for once?"

"It's not in the job description, besides, compassion is for weak smeets," Red countered, returning his gaze back to Vult.

"Planet Dirt, My Tallest?" He quizzingly asked. "I'm not familiar with it."

"The name speaks for itself, Commander," Red exasperated, "the coordinates are in your orders. It is the dumping grounds of the Armada, anything and everything that can be thrown away ends up there, mainly junk and scrap from destroyed Armada vessels and vehicles. We theorize she constructed a space-faring craft from parts, and left the planet."

"Is there anything else I should know about this Janitorial Drone, My Tallest?" Vult requested, not a fan of surprises.

"Everything in the database on that PAK serial number belonging to her is in that holo-disc, Commander," Purple assured, "if there is something, even we don't know of it. The more time you waste here, the farther away from Dirt she is going to get. Space is very…big, Commander, don't lose her."

"Yes, Sir, My Tallest," Vult went to attention, saluting, Corr and the SIR unit following suit. "We will depart at once and contact you once we recover the Janitorial Drone."

"We know you will, Commander," Tallest Red nodded in a patronizing manner. "Dismissed."

Vult did an about face, beginning their trek back to The Ghost of Irk. In order to not garner attention on the docking ring, Rem landed in planetside to make it much easier to hide.

"Permission to speak freely, Commander?" Corr questioned as they marched side-by-side.

"Corr, I've told you before, if you have something on your mind, just say it, there's no need to ask for my permission," Vult lightheartedly put, feeling as if they had developed a brotherly bond to warrant such informal conversation.

"…don't you think this is a little…odd?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we are a unit of highly specialized Spec Ops soldiers, tasked with going after a single rogue Janitorial Drone…to be quite honest, Commander, something doesn't feel right about this." Corr admitted, "I know the Almighty Tallest decreed it as such, but if anything, we should be deployed to Vort to aid with the invasion as opposed to tracking down one of our own. It's a waste of our talent and resources."

"I understand your plight, Corr," Vult admitted, "but that is the nature of the beast. We're given our orders; we follow them, that's how things are. They didn't seem to be in a very good mood today anyway, dealing with Zim and all, so I wasn't about to question these orders. A Janitorial Drone shouldn't be hard to find, they're not exactly masters of space travel, evasion, and understanding of military-grade equipment. We'll find her without incident and return her to Dirt in no time, finally be on our way back to Vort to grind them into dust."

"I truly hope so, Commander," Corr nodded in agreement, "out of curiosity, what is her name? The Tallest didn't say, simply referring to her as a Janitorial Drone."

Vult activated the holo-disc once more, scrolling through the information.

"Hmm…it says here that her name is…Tak, Janitorial Drone Tak," Vult read, studying the image once more. The more he looked at it, the more ill-at-ease he began to feel. Something about her just didn't feel right. "The Tallest said everything on her was here, and I'm not a fan of surprises, Captain."

He, Corr, and the rest of the Shadow Strikers unit were about to be in for quite the surprise. That year of combat training and study of ancient techniques was about to come in real handy.


	7. Miscommunications

A plethora of celestial bodies floated by, some as vanishing as quickly as the appeared, the darkness of space dotted with distant stars, planets, systems, even galaxies, painting a tapestry beyond what many could ever conceive.

As for the Shadow Strikers aboard The Ghost of Irk…it was yet another fruitless day of searching the stars for a single Irken. 3 full days of searching, and nothing to show for it yet. He could almost see his Tallest becoming upset with his lack of progress.

It pained him that they were being pulled away from aiding the war effort, especially with Vort the next target, and quite possibly the most hotly contested world of the campaign.

"Pulse is coming back negative…again, Commander," Rem announced from her captain's chair on the bridge of the vessel, the chair hovering from position to position as she expertly choreographed the control of such a fine vessel all by herself.

"Send another one," he calmly replied, checking their plotted course thus far, and with time dilation, the expanse of where this Janitorial Drone by the name of Tak could be located forever grew exponentially. In layman's terms…the longer it took to locate her, the less of a chance they were going to find her. So far, nothing had turned up, and with light years from Dirt already behind them, things weren't look too good for them. "Keep them going at regular intervals. The Armada has no vessels or anything this far out in this quadrant, so if something shows up, it has to be her ship or PAK signal.."

"Yes, Sir, understood," Rem nodded, quickly keying his command into the scanning equipment. "I've also got it set on a very sensitive level, anything that shows up is going to light it up like crazy," the pilot added, patting the radar display.

"Just keep an eye on it and let me know if anything develops, alright?"

"Yes, Sir," she saluted from her chair, turning back around to look out the bulbous, circular viewport once more.

At the rear of the spacious bridge was the ship's main gravity lift, a repulsor that shuttled those aboard between the bridge and the various levels throughout the ship. Possessing several, it was large, but nothing on the grand scale that was within the Armada. With the push of a button, the lift smoothly descended into the bowels of the ship, his destination was the hangar. Serving as a moving base of operations, containing everything they would need to be self-sufficient and rely on no one else was contained within the hull, making secrecy a top priority and possibility still.

The lift came to a gentle stop at the bottom, the doors parting to reveal the hangar. It was the only area of the ship that rivaled the size of their training grounds, but it was necessary. The dropship sat neatly in the center of the open space, while a pair of yet-to-be-used Megadoomer stealth assault mechs stood side-by-side against the bulkhead. As intimidating and cutting-edge technology they were, Vult really didn't see a real use for them in their operations. Cloaking or otherwise, they were still loud and easily tracked by the large footprints they made. He had to admit that the custom matte black finish looked rather well on them though.

Vard and Aero seemed to share the area for the most part with her performing routine maintenance and using the necessary space as a workshop for the ship to keep it up and running. At the moment, she appeared to be making adjustments to the dropship, laying beneath it with a collection of tools, covered in dirt, grease, and grim. Vard had a corner portioned off from the rest of the hangar with hull plating as the walls for more sensitive technological work and repairs, but still had ample access to the necessary tools. The communications technician seemed to be soldering electronic components together that belonged in his spy drone, the shell sitting on the bench. The Irken Commander approached the dropship, as close as he could get to Aero, and then gently rapped on the hollow, metal shell to get her attention.

"What is it? I'm kinda busy," she gruffly responded, a metal component clanging against the hangar floor, "_Bastrata k'ved,_" Aero added, cursing whatever happened in her attempt.

"I know you are, Aero, I only need a moment of your time." Vult calmly uttered, the instant words were spoken, she was scrambling from beneath the dropship to attention.

"Sorry, Commander, I didn't realize it was you, do forgive me," she apologized with a salute, adding another splotch of grease on her face from her midnight-black hands. Her fatigues were equally fouled with fluids and dirt from the dropship, sleeves rolled up, and not a spot of green skin was visible from what was exposed.

"Think nothing of it, Aero," he assured in a relaxed tone, "just making my rounds, seeing what all of you are up to."

"Well, as you can see, Sir," she pointed to the dropship as she attempted to clean the grease of her hands on a rag, "I'm trying to keep this thing in tip-top shape, no need for mechanical failures in the field if avoidable…it is my job after all."

"Good to see you know your priorities. All of your gear is squared away, right?"

"Of course, Sir, first and last thing that I do every day, part of the routine."

"As soon as we find this drone, I want you suited up and ready to go planetside with me, understand?"

The filth about her person or dealing with her job didn't seem to bother her all too much, quickly snapping another salute of obedience.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Carry on, Sergeant," Vult motioned, watching her climb back on the rolling rack on the floor, sliding back under the dropship once more out of view.

The Irken Commander's next destination aboard the Ghost of Irk brought him to their training grounds, hallway adjacent between it and the hangar. Corr was tasked with running those not on maintenance duty, such as Aero and Vard, to keep the others' skills sharp with rigorous training.

The rest of the unit seemed to be practicing suppression techniques for the event their stealth is compromised and need to fight it out. Corr must have felt that Praxxus 7 may have been a success, but it called for improvement. Perfection never came easily, after all.

"Captain, a moment of your time," Vult called out, watching the training scenario unfold before them from the elevated observation module that controlled the training grounds.

"Commander, Sir," Corr greeted with a crisp salute as usual. "Have we located the Janitorial Drone yet?"

"Not yet, you'll know when we do, I assure you that much," Vult made clear, "speaking of which, that is why I came down to discuss the matter with you."

"Sir?"

"I know I ordered you to run training drills and whatnot today for them, but I need at least a couple of my soldiers ready to go at a moment's notice. Our window of opportunity is already shrinking as it is, and anymore wasted time will further reduce it."

"Of course, Commander, I understand," Captain Corr obliged, "who do you have in mind?"

"…Haxx and Tuu," Vult thought for a moment. "It will give me a chance to see how well the others intermingle and mesh in the field without everyone deployed. I also want to see for myself how well those two act under my command. I'm sure I can leave the ship and the unit in your capable hands when the call comes, correct, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir, I will not fail you," Corr made abundantly clear. The last thing he ever wished to do was fail, let along fail Commander Vult.

"For you, that's nearly impossible," he responded, patting the Captain on the shoulder. "As soon as they finish up here, I want them on call and ready to go when we pick up the drone's signal."

"Yes, Commander, as you wish."

It was going to be much sooner than any of them imagined.

"Bridge to the Commander." Vult's commlink activated, Rem's voice sounding through it.

"Vult here, what do you have for me, Rem?"

"…it's got to be the drone, Sir, nothing else is out here. I got a wash on the radar, too large for a single Irken, so I'm thinking she's having engine trouble, possibly a reactor leak. I've already plugged the coordinates and set course."

"Do you have a PAK signal though?" Vult expressed, not wishing to pursue a lead that could turn up nothing, adding to their frustrations.

"Negative, Commander, but this quadrant of space where the wash emanated from hasn't been charted by the Armada, so nothing, especially a reading of a reactor leak from a Voot Cruiser engine. Dirt is on the edge of Empire-controlled space. I'm almost positive it is the target, Sir. The distance, coincidence, it all falls in place. I suggest that we pursue our only lead on probably cause, Sir, but what are your orders?"

The Shadow Striker leader thought for a moment, it was a long shot, but Rem did have a point. It was the logical thing to do, returning empty handed to the Almighty Tallest was not an option.

"Keep us on course, get us there ASAP," Vult finally responded, turning back to Corr from his conversation with Rem over the commlink, "get those two suited up right now…we found the drone."

Drilled and perfect practitioners of their profession, it didn't take long before Haxx, Tuu, and Aero were in their battle dress, ready to go recover the Janitorial Drone. She had luckily finished whatever repairs and maintenance on the dropship in time. Aero sat in the dropship's cockpit, beginning to start the flight procedures up while the others strapped in for the descent to the planet's surface. Vult closed the hatch as the SIR unit stepped aboard, following its master obediently.

"Quick question, Sir," Aero beckoned, powering the ship's engines up. It was a great thing that most of them had cross-trained in the others' proficiencies, so Aero know the controls and functions of the ship inside and out, thanks to Rem's help, of course.

"Proceed," Vult replied, buckling into his harness, checking his plasma rifle to ensure it was in proper working order and fully loaded.

"Why are we only going in with the 4 of us, well, 5 including Mrs. Quakers?" Her free-floating nature of a voice questioned, using the unorthodox name that she used when referring to the SIR unit.

"We're dealing with a Janitorial Drone, Aero, not a battle-hardened soldier or any other kind of threat. This should be quick pick up of an individual who is unhappy with their assignment, and return them back to where they belong without incident. It is also a good idea to leave a few aboard the Ghost of Irk, this is uncharted territory after all. It would be quite a take for pirates, scavengers, you name it."

"Well, what about this Janitorial Drone? Why don't the Tallest simply have her remotely deactivated for going rogue to begin with?" Haxx gestured as the ship pulled free of the hangar into the dark reaches of space. "Saves us a lot of hassle, send a replacement that is obedient…all that kind of stuff."

"You're more than welcome to debate the matter and the bureaucracy of it with the Tallest…even though it makes sense to do so, but who are we to question order?" Vult finished with sarcasm. "Just do things by the book, this isn't anything we haven't prepared for. We go in, restrain and subdue, it's that simple."

"Yes, Sir, understood," Haxx nodded, watching out the slim viewport that ran around the ship, the blackness of space giving way to blinding white whipped around the ship violently, severely reducing visibility. "Am I the only one that's noticing these conditions?"

"It's a planet made of ice, Haxx," Aero spoke with a lack of amusement at his lame attempts to be funny, "radar and meteorology reports configuring…and we have a blizzard on our hands, complete with low visibility, high winds, heavy snowfall, bone-chilling temperatures, and the low-levels of light…sounds like paradise."

"Just put us down and try not to lose the ship in this, Aero," Vult responded at her placated humor. He activated his visor and protective mask, knowing they were already going to have a fight as soon as hatch opened…the environment.

Meanwhile, a half-buried monstrosity of a ship lay in the snow, a makeshift shelter built around the rear of the small, sleek craft. Within it, a female Irken matching the very description that Vult had in his possession was frustrated beyond no other as she made critical repairs.

"…of all the blasted planets I had to land on," she growled under her breath, squinting beneath pair of welding goggles as she began touching up seams, "it matters not, I'll be on my way to find the one responsible for my unjust assignment to Dirt…I'll find Zim"

The seam she was welding blew open once more, showering her in sparks and fouling her emerald skin with dark soot from the reaction with the ship's hull coating.

"_I'kved livda!"_, Tak cursed, pounding the hull of the ship with her first violently out of rage. "I'll never get off this rock at this rate, not with this weather or these unnecessary mechanical failures!"

She simply lifted her goggles, pinching the bridge between her eyes in exasperation, sighing.

"I just need to calm down…focus, Tak, you built this ship and the SIR unit all by yourself, you know how to fix them, you are a master of Irken technology," she thought, pulling back the plate she had just welded in hope of finally sealing up the reactor that was continuing to plague her. "It's not like the Armada is going to waste the manpower to send anyone after me, a lowly…Janitorial…Drone," she finished, growling as she grinded her teeth at the thought, "all because of that little ball of….stupidity! I should have been an Invader! NOT him! He ruined everythi-"

An image projected from her PAK before her on the side of the ship, complete with a very minute alarm. It was a radar signature emanating all around her ship, standard operational procedures for an Invader to follow in enemy territory.

Certified or not, no matter what assignment the Armada gave her, she would always be an Invader, anything less was an insult.

"Warning, proximity movement detected." A trio of dots on her established outer perimeter, far too large than anything natural on this planet. Tak's curling antenna perked up at attention.

"Threat assessment," she ordered of the device, still surprised that the Armada would attempt to capture her.

"Processing…processing complete…Threat level…lethal."

"So they've decided to deal with me in the field without bothering with an assessment…no matter, Invader Tak will not be so easily defeated!" She concluded, despite the cold, becoming rather animated. The cruelly assigned Janitorial Drone turned to her creation of a SIR that was watching for anything out of the ordinary. It appeared very similar in appearance to what the Armada handed out to soldiers and assigned Invaders, aside from a large grappler of a right arm. "MiMi! We're going to have visitors…prepare for destruction."

The SIR unit simply saluted with its oversized right arm.

"Keep sharp," Vult calmly stated over the commlink to the members of the ground team. "Tuu's going to keep overwatch from a distance while the rest of us move in and subdue this Drone. Nice and simple mission…let's keep it that way."

Their silence seemed to be the affirmative to his orders as the trio of soldiers watched Tuu break off from the rest of the unit, disappearing into the abyss of white that the torrential snowfall produced. Babysitting smeets in these conditions would have been dangerous, let alone trying to retrieve a rogue Irken. Luckily enough, their uniforms were designed with the extremes of field conditions in mind, able to withstand such chilling temperatures. Vult would have rather not tested it out in such a way, but it was better than going to a planet like Sirius Minor that was about as hot of the surface of its sun it orbited.

Their visors provided some comfort as they were able to look through various spectrums and still have visibility, his current setting detecting severe differences in temperature, his soldiers seeming to glow red against the dark blue all around them. Even then, the blizzard conditions were physically limiting as the trudged through drifts that came up their waists, but appeared to be consistently knee-deep.

"Once again, I still fail to see the importance of pulling us away from the Vort system to track down a Janitorial Drone," Haxx spoke out, "…orders are orders, I suppose."

"Would you stop complaining already, Haxx?" Aero responded, catching him off guard. "I'd rather be playing hide-and-go-seek with some Drone than avoid having my head blown off in a full-scale warzone. We don't exactly get vacations after all, so I think this is the closest that we'll get…be quiet."

"…duly noted," Haxx responded dryly, grumbling to himself. Sad truth of it she was right, this was the closest thing they were going to get to relaxation from the front. He shifted the weight of the plasma rifle in his hands, seeing how it would have been unnecessary and downright overkill to bring his usual armament.

"Knock it off, we're coming up on the source of the signal," Vult ordered, getting the instant effect he wished for…silence.

The outline of Tak's ship came into view on the small crest of a hill, a makeshift tent encompassing the rear where the engine was located. With silent hand signals, Vult motioned for Aero to flank right, Haxx left, and the SIR unit remained close to him, ready to give support if necessary. Weapons raised, the closed in as discreetly as possible, their cloaking active. The full invisibility effect wasn't as prominent in the conditions because snow accumulated on their uniforms and gear. Still, the harder it was to see them, the better off they were going to be.

Encompassing the custom craft apparently built by the hands of the Drone, the three Shadow Strikers inspected in closely, mainly Aero.

"No sign of the Drone, Commander," she spoke, running her hand across the ship's dark hull. "but this is a rather nice piece of craftsmanship. I can look at it and see several different types of ship were used to build this thing."

She ducked her head into the tent, shielded from the wind shear. The assortment of tools on the ground and area that seemed to be worked on spoke for her.

"Just as Rem thought," she added, coming back out to Vult and Haxx, whom watched for anything out of the ordinary. "looks like a nasty reactor leak. She lost power, had to make an emergency landing, and she's trying to get it going again."

"Where the Irk is she then?" Haxx commented, looking around. "Last thing I'd do would abandon my ship in these conditions…something isn't right here, I can feel it in my spooch."

"Stop being so paranoid," the tallest of the group spoke unamused, hefting her rifle over her shoulder nonchalantly, "…she's a Drone, even if she got wise to us coming…what can she do? First complaining about the weather and now you're scared of a Janitorial Drone? You sure you're the same guy that the Commander recruited? You're starting to look like a smeet that was hatched yesterday."

"Don't start on me, Ae-"

Vult quickly snapped his hand across his throat, signaling for silence, bringing his rifle to bear. Unsure, they brought their own weapons to their shoulders, ready for anything. He remained rigid, concentrating on the surroundings, all that was heard was the subdued whipping of wind and snow over the barren terrain. Even with the temperature filter on his visor, he couldn't distinguish the terrain around him, but much like Haxx only moments prior…something didn't feel right.

"Maybe we should….spread out and start looking for clues to the Drone's whereabouts, Sir," the outspoken male Irken suggested, attempting to hide the tinge of fear in his voice that was growing.

Without a word, Vult nodded, motioning for them to do so.

Aero approached the cockpit of the small craft, looking through the tinted, rounded dome that served as the viewport, finding something peculiar. Curious, she found the release latch on the exterior of the craft, opening it enough to reach inside.

"What do we have here?" She commented, pulling free what looked very similar to a SIR unit, a little asymmetrical in design with a large grappler as a hand, but not all that different from the standard issue to the Armada. "Why would a Janitorial Drone have a SIR unit, especially one like this?" Aero turned to Vult, whom was investigating around the perimeter. "Sir, I think I found something!"

Commander Vult looked up, Aero focused on getting his attention, while the SIR unit's eyes came to life with a blood-red glow.

"Now, MiMi! ATTACK!!!" A shrill voice ordered from near Haxx, startling him into frantically turning about to find the source.

"Aero, drop it!" Vult exclaimed in warning as the events simultaneously transpired, but it was too late, the robot had already drawn back its large grappler of a hand in a fist, slamming it with considerable force into Aero's head. The impact shattered the visor and crumbled the mask greatly as she was forced backwards, crashing into the side of the ship, and crumbling to a heap. The SIR unit fell from her hand after striking her, its sights now set on Vult.

Just as he was about to line up his sights and put a plasma bolt through the SIR unit's head, a plume of snow rocketed from the ground only a few feet from Haxx, a female Irken propelled by her PAK legs, the kind only assigned to Invaders for better mobility on hostile worlds. Her violet eyes were ablaze with rage as she lunged with continued momentum at Haxx, catching him off guard.

Tak knocked him to the ground, drawing two of the 4 razor-sharp metallic points on the legs back, preparing to drive it through the soldier's body. Breaking off from taking the SIR unit out, Vult took careful aim at Tak, pulling the trigger.

The plasma bolt ripped through one of her PAK legs, sending her careening off to the side, being throw off-balance, and saving a member of his unit from being perforated.

The Drone's SIR unit, apparently by the name of MiMi, drew back as it leapt through the air, preparing to strike against Vult. Seeing the damage it wrought with a single blow against Aero, he wasn't about to test its full might. The fist came within mere inches of connecting, making a deep impact crater in the frozen soil beneath the snow as he rolled to the side in avoidance. It charged once more as it was programmed, only it was caught off guard by something else…Vult's SIR unit, or as Aero and everyone seemed to know it as…Mrs. Quackers, Mrs. Q for short.

He took the moment of relief to check the status of his soldiers.

"Aero, Haxx, report. You still with me?"

"Here, Sir, " Haxx's voice shakily responded, already back on his feet and prepared for Tak, "don't worry, she just got the jump on me, that's all."

"Aero?"

Static.

"Aero, respond."

"Huah? Whooo's that talking inside my heeead?" She slurred, more dazed than anything. It was sudden, but she finally came to after shaking her head a few times, "Ahhh, my face, that little _bastrata _tin canhit me!" Aero cringed, trying to get to her feet, pulling the remnants of her mask free from the helmet. It done its job and prevented her face from being caved in, but was now worthless and left her visage open to the extreme weather.

"Good, keep it that way," Vult commented, his way of being relieved that nothing bad had happened…yet. "You are clear to engage her. Incapacitate her any way you can, but do not kill her."

Haxx didn't need to be told twice as he watched the murderous Drone charge him once more at blinding speed. Quickly firing, a single round managed to strike her in the upper arm, charring her clothing and leaving a cauterized plasma burn in its wake. Despite the lack of blood from energy-based weaponry, the after effect was cripplingly painful.

Halted in her tracks for a mere moment, Haxx remained ever-vigilant as she adjusted herself, steadying her balance as she studied the fresh wound. Slowly turning, Tak's eyes seemed to be more alive than ever as she released a blood-curdling, shrill battle cry, as she charged.

The only time Haxx ever saw that look before was on the battlefield, etched into the faces of soldiers, certainly not mere Drones. He knew that his instincts weren't misplaced then.

With blinding speed, she knocked the rifle free of his hands after he missed twice in her charge with her PAK leg. Attempting to draw his sidearm out of reaction as opposed to using his melee energy blades as instructed, it cost him as she forced him to the ground, pinning his arms in the process with cold, metallic shafts piercing his forearms. If not for the forearm guards the Irken Elite wore, they would have easily pushed all the way through.

Haxx had to admit…she was tough for a Janitorial Drone. Then again…that notion went out the window as soon as she tried to put a 2-inch diameter hole through him with a sharpened metallic spike.

She _really _didn't want to go back to planet Dirt.

"Irken Elite, Spec Ops, it doesn't matter…" Tak thought as she looked into the blank expression of a visor and combat mask before her current victim on the ground, preparing strike once more, hopefully on target this time. "…you're going to die the same. I've come too far to be denied freedom. Invader Tak will be stopped by no one, most certainly not by the likes of you."

A dark magenta blade of energy sliced cleanly through the left leg that held Haxx to the ground, the one responsible was Vult, his melee weapon activated in one hand, the rifle in the other. Out of sheer rage at his meddling, Tak cut through the air with the other extremity, narrowly missing Vult's head, and slicing the weapon in half, making it useless. Heaving for breath after feeling like it had been an eternity since she last took one, reality came crashing down as all that had just transpired taken mere moments.

A chase across the universe, leading planetside to a frozen wasteland, to capture and return a rogue Janitorial Drone back to her assignment, a mission they all thought was better suited for someone else was starting to lean more and more towards severe miscommunication.

Mistakes in the field or in intel costed lives…even if it was by someone else's hand.


	8. Dire Complications

"On your feet, Haxx," Vult ordered, keeping his eyes on Tak, turning his attention back to her. "Now…Janitorial Drone, stop resisting and come quietly."

"You offer mercy, thinking you have the upper hand after I nearly killed all of you?" She unbelievably spoke, watching Aero and Haxx to ensure they weren't trying to flank her. "You must be really dense, as well as whomever sent you after me!"

"That would be the Almighty Tallest, Drone," Vult continued, losing his patience, "now…stop resisting before we are forced to take drastic measures."

"Do tell of these drastic measures. What kind of plan to you have against combating an Invader?" She confidently challenged, still furious at their presence, "if anyone is to offer warnings, it will be me. Leave before I kill you…now. You may simply be doing your job, but this isn't worth your life."

"Neither is your abandonment of your post. You are not an Invader; you're assigned as a Janitorial Drone by the Aramda, that is your profession."

"The day I accept that as my assignment is the day I die!" Tak exclaimed defiantly, disgusted with the idea, "I was wrongfully denied my true calling, the very reason why I've abandoned, the very reason why I'm willing to kill fellow Irken who get in my way. Now…leave me be or pay the consequences."

Vult could tell that he was dealing with something more than just a Drone, but it mattered not. He had a job to do, and he wasn't going to let her prevent him from doing that.  
"Regulations are regulations, Drone," Vult calmly stated, brandishing restraints, tossing a pair to both Aero and Haxx. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You're not dealing with Irken Armada regulars, and if provoked, we will shoot to kill. Don't force my hand."

"For the last time, I'm an INVADER!!!" Tak angrily exclaimed, eye twitching with rage. "Drones aren't masters of Irken engineering! Drones don't have SIR units! Drones aren't assigned Invader equipment! Try if you must, but I assure you that you will die on this frozen rock if you don't leave me and go about your way."

"At least I know I tried to complete my mission if I do," he stated without hesitation, truly dedicated. She had to at least respect him for that much, but it wasn't going to save him if he decided to follow through with his orders, "dead or alive, you're going back to Dirt."

"Preferably alive," Haxx added, recovering his rifle, and placing the sights on Tak, "…dead weight is rather heavy to lug around, you look kinda on the heavy side."

"Haxx, shut your _i'kveda _mouth," Aero pressed in a hushed tone in the remnants of her commlink in her helmet, "she's already aggravated as it is, don't instigate her."

Tak's building rage, as well as instinct to evade and survive, grew to the boiling point, finally erupted over as she snapped. She let loose a battle cry like she did before, quickly approaching on her high-mobility, arachnid like legs that sprouted from her PAK.

"Take her down!" Vult ordered in reaction, preparing for her assault. He jumped backwards just in time to narrowly avoid yet another strike with the points of the legs. The Commander retaliated with a slice of his own from his plasma blade, sending Tak peddling backwards in defense as it made a moderate gash across her midsection, cauterizing the wound in the process. Just like the plasma burn in her shoulder, it seemed to only add fuel to the fires of retaliation.

Aero leapt from Tak's left flank, attempting to catch her off guard and incapacitate her. The rogue Irken was aware of her intentions, wheeling around in retaliation, and using the momentum to catch her cleanly across the face with a PAK leg in mid-air. The tall female twirled in the air before crashing to the ground from the counter-attack. Caught up in her momentary triumph over Aero, Haxx surprised Tak by latching onto her back from behind, wrapping his arms and legs around her in an attempt to subdue her.

She let out a renewed howl of anger as she struggled against the restraining hold, flailing about to force him free.

"Get off of me!!!" She exclaimed, unable to move her arms from against her body.

"Looks like someone needs a time out," Haxx jested from his current position, looking over his shoulder at Vult and Aero, "all she needed was a hug to calm her down after all."

Growing tiresome of his meddling, Tak placed a hand beneath her PAK, the sensor automatically ejecting the intended object free of it: a vibroblade.

A quick twirl of the bladed weapon and a press to activate it, the Irken rogue lodged it deeply into Haxx's inner right thigh. His grip immediately loosened as he fell to the ground, crying out against the sheer pain. Despite the impairment, he rolled to safety just in time as Tak thrust one of her PAK appendages down in an attempt to finish him off. Before she could retract the leg, Vult's plasma blade sliced cleanly through it, throwing her off-balance once more, finally crumpling into the snow with a single fully-functioning PAK leg left.

On her hands and knees, she heaved for breath, clutching and making fists in the snow in frustration. Her wounds pained her greatly, growing more by the passing second as the adrenalin of battle began wearing off and her own PAK unable to keep up with administering painkillers. Vult remained ever-vigilant as he approached slowly from behind her.

"Hands behind your back, now," He sternly ordered, fishing the restraints from his belt once more. "I said I had a mission to fulfill, Drone, and I will do so."

"…perhaps I underestimated you," Tak spoke through grit teeth, finally relaxing somewhat, compiling with Vult's demands. "but if you're willing to let bygones be bygones, I'll put this little…incident behind me….I surrender."

Silent, he remained focused on her hands as she positioned them to have the restraints clasped around her wrists. He wasn't able to see the devious, sly look on her face as she waited with anticipation. Haxx, on the other hand, could. What troubled him even more was he continued to wrestle with the vibroblade lodged in his leg, impairing him into being able to do nothing about it.

"Commander, look out, it's a tra-"was all that he managed to get out before Tak set her plans into motion.

The remnants of the four PAK legs quickly snapped into position, forming the corners of what appeared to be a rectangle, the points directed to the rear…towards the Commander. Vult reacted, attempting to dive out of the way, but the Drone was far too fast with the element of surprise and deception. A massive energy blast erupted forth from it, intending to prove lethal to whomever was caught in it. Haxx froze with horror as he watched, but the one who had front-row seats was Vult.

He watched as if time crawled painfully slow before him, his right arm, the very same that had his plasma blade activated, was caught in the energy attack. As if it were in layers, he watched the components of his weapon melt away, then the armor plating, fabric of his uniform, his skin, and finally looked on, stunned with fright at the sight as tissue, flesh, and bone went as well. Vult staggered back in amazement as he looked at the remnants of his right arm, nothing existing below the elbow any longer, charred black with severe burns.

Tak seized the window of opportunity, whirling around from her kneeling position, and lunged forward with the single intact PAK leg. The razor-honed point sliced through the air at blinding speed, easily finding its way to the intended target: Vult. His body jerked violently as it pierced his flesh, making quick work of the armor plating in the center of his chest as if it were nothing. The enraged Invader continued forward, running him completely through as the point exited his back, narrowly missing his PAK as it protruded from his left shoulder. Dark emerald, oily blood dripped from the silver, metallic point.

"Commander, NO!!!" Haxx exclaimed, attempting to get to his feet to do something, anything to aid Vult.

"I warned you," she growled lowly, staring hard into Vult's visor, knowing that a visage of shock and immense pain stared back at her. She quickly retracted the leg from his body, causing him to go limp and fall to a knee, grasping at his combat mask, attempting to release it. His remaining left hand finally found the release, allowing it to part ways. As it did so, a profuse amount of blood that had gathered spilled onto the once-flawless snow, coughing and gagging as he did so. The Irken Commander was mortally wounded and almost drowned on his own blood. He grasped at the perfect puncture through his body, attempting to stay the bleeding somewhat, but it was failing miserably, feeling that his PAK was unable to keep up with the rapid loss in replenishing it.

In a matter of moments, if he didn't get medical attention, he was going to die.

"I never leave anything unfinished," Tak spoke, drawing the lethal PAK leg back once more, "and I'll do the merciful thing and put you out of your misery, _Commander_." She added with discontent upon hearing Haxx yell out to his commanding officer.

Vult, already feeling light-headed and finding it difficult to breath from the location of the grievous wound. Irken were known for their resilience when it came to injury, but he could already tell something was terribly wrong, and if not acted upon, he was going to expire. This Janitorial Drone who claimed to be an Invader knew exactly where to strike for the full effect. Regretfully…it was right on target.

The PAK leg snapped back, preparing to strike once more, like the stinger of an insect. The Irken Commander closed his eyes, waiting for what seemed like the end. After surviving the bloodbath that was Praxxus 7, he was certain that there wasn't anything left in the universe that could fell him.

If the Irken truly had a greater power of any kind other than the Armada watching over them, Vult was hoping a miracle would happen to stave off an untimely end.

It appeared his wish had been granted.

Just as Tak began to follow through with her attack, a large-caliber plasma bolt ripped through the right side of her abdomen. The force twirled her around before she fell to the ground, screaming in pain as she grasped at the disturbing wound. The shot came right over his head and stopped her in her tracks, finally putting her down for the count.

"Target is down, Commander," Tuu's calm voice spoke, "I apologize for not firing sooner, I didn't have a shot, especially in these conditions."

"It's…okay, Tuu," Vult forced himself to respond, finding it difficult to do anything at this point. "Just…get the ship…and get us out of here."

Haxx finally managed to limp over to Vult, using the remnants of his rifle as a crutch.

"Sir, are you alright, how bad is it?" He frantically requested.

As much as he tried to respond, he hadn't the energy left, and finally succumbed to the extent of his wound and passed out from blood loss. The white snow around his body was now tinged a sickly green, steam emanating from the open wound to the extreme cold.

"Sir? Commander, answer me!" Haxx continued, giving Vult a shake about the shoulders, "_I'kveda udura, _Aero!" He called out, hoping to see his comrade, beginning to panic "Aero!"

She finally emerged from the blanket of snow that hindered their visibility greatly, the side of her helmet crumpled, a deep laceration under her eye matched it where Tak's attack landed. Mrs. Q bounded over, throwing MiMi, deactivated and missing the grappler arm, next to Tak, who was still writing in pain, grasping the gaping sound in her side. It was scary how efficient Tuu could be. That shot was easily 900 meters out, difficult to begin with, and compounded by the blizzard-like conditions and low visibility.

"What are you hollering about?" She responded, agitated, then seeing Vult and the oily-green snow around him, "_I'kveda udura_…how bad is it?"

"I-I don't know, he passed out, but it looks like in the chest."

"Gee, what gave it away, Haxx? The profuse bleeding from the center of it or it all over the ground?" She sarcastically scathed, "hurry up and patch it up before he bleeds out, enough to get him back to the ship and let Sula do her job, I'll restrain these two."

Haxx's hands were very jittery as he began producing medical supplies from his belt, nervous and slowly at that. Aero finally grew agitated at his panicked state, shoving him out of the way and knelt at Vult's side.

"Move it. Take care of those two," she angrily ordered at his incompetence.

Aero was no medical expert, but thanks to Sula's cross-training, she knew enough to keep soldiers and herself alive long enough for proper treatment. That was looking very difficult at this point though. She pulled the remnants of the armor plating free of the uniform, opening it up for a better look at what was plaguing him. The culprit appeared to be exactly what she had feared from the signs…a ruptured squeedly spooch. Irken anatomy was stupidly simple, but that also meant if something were to happen, say a traumatic injury such as this, to the single organ responsible for a majority of the bodily functions, it could spell disaster and a very painful death. No amount of blood stoppage was going to stop him from suffocating to death with a large hole through the spooch, one that almost ripped it free of the windpipe.

Knowing the Commander's life hung in the balance, she prepared herself, as well as her stomach, and thrust her hand inside of the wound, grabbing hold of the ruptured area of the spooch, and hopefully sealing it off enough to allow Vult to breathe once more.

"Oh…" she begun gagging as she felt the organ pulsate within her grasp, amplified by the pooling blood. She forced herself off the subject to find out where their comrade with the dropship was, "Tuu, where are you, respond."

"On my way, be there in…20 seconds," he responded. "I already informed the ship and Sula of what happened and she's ready for the Commander as soon as we are in the hangar."

"Are the prisoners ready for transport, Haxx?" Aero requested, hoping his commlink was still working.

"That _voreta _Drone tried to bite me, I gave her a swift kick in the face, she's out cold," Haxx angrily replied, "but yeah, both of them are gagged and bagged. Let's get off this rock…now."

"Understood," Aero attempt to remain calm in command. They all may have been Sergeants, but she was Sergeant 1st class, just a step above. "get over here and help me put the Commander in the ship."

Haxx hobbled over, the dropship descending mere feet away, kicking up even more snow in drifts from the jetwash. The rear hatched slammed open, Tuu rushing out to aid the other two is keeping Vult stable while they moved him. Aero kept a grasp on the spooch, knowing if she released, he risked suffocating, and with his current condition, it wouldn't take much. They strapped him in for transport, Tuu and Haxx quickly returning with Tak, simply tossing her in, landing on her face painfully before coming to a halt. Mrs. Q tossed the remnants of MiMi on top of Tak, boarding the ship as well.

"Alright, we're in," Aero announced, keeping an eye on Vult, Haxx pulling the Commander's helmet off to allow him some comfort, tossing it to the side.

Seconds felt like an eternity, as that was all it took to leave the planet's surface and be on a docking pattern with the Ghost of Irk. Each second passed was another lost, Aero and Haxx both watching on in a combination of horror, frustration, and anger as Vult began losing color in his skin, blood pooling on the deck below him. No sooner than the ship touched down on the hangar floor, the door was slammed open, Aero and Haxx using the stretcher that Vult was strapped to lift him and maneuver him out to Sula and a waiting repulsor gurney. She was more than prepared, dressed in head-to-toe surgical clothing, a matching apron and gloves. No sooner than Vult was on the repulsor, he was being maneuvered out of the hangar, Aero running beside it.

"It's his squeedly spooch," she began explain, trailing off as they entered the hall, rushing to the medical wing.

It was then that Haxx noticed that everyone else, even Rem, had collected in the hangar and awaited their arrival. The utter shock and disbelief was written all over their faces, and it didn't help matters any that a trail of blood led from the dropship to the medical ward…Vult's blood.

In the silence, and out of frustration, Haxx ripped his own helmet off, slamming it into the hangar floor, shattering the visor in the process. He let out a string of obscenities in their native tongue, a language that was long forgotten by many, made illegible from his anger. Rha stepped forward, stopping him from getting anywhere near Tak.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy," he attempted to calm his friend and comrade, "things like this happen, it's part of our job."

"She's responsible, if the Commander dies, it's her fault! She must be punished!" He exclaimed, trying to get at Tak still, Rha holding him back. It was evident if he broke free and got to Tak, who was still restrained and hindered by her collection of wounds, he was going to kill her and make this mission all for naught. It didn't matter though, all reasoning was thrown out the window as soon as he lost control of his building anger.

Corr finally stepped in, forcefully shoving Haxx back off of Rha, getting his attention.

"That is enough, Sergeant!" He ordered sternly, blazing a hole through Haxx in his stare, "Straighten up and start acting like a Shadow Striker, the best example of military prowess in the entire universe, not some spoiled, defective smeet!"

The angered Irken finally caved, collapsing against the hull of the dropship, sliding down to a seated position as he heaved for breath.

"I understand your frustration, but you must control it, "Corr continued, finding it difficult to keep his own thoughts in check, but for the time being, he was in command, "we must be optimistic about this. We're soldiers, this is part of our everyday lives, and this is no different from when we were regulars in the Irken Elite. Yes, Commander Vult has instructed us and built a family bond with us, making us stronger as a whole, so we must do the same for him. He needs us now more than ever, he needs us to be strong. His fight is as much as ours, we cannot lose faith."

"You're…right, Sir," Haxx finally responded, feeling ashamed, "forgive me for my outburst."

"There's no need to ask for forgiveness, Haxx," Corr stated, using his name as opposed to rank, something he rarely did. He offered a hand to help his comrade up to a standing position once more. "Just keep in mind he's still with us, and we all will fight this together, as one."

"Besides," Rha began with a smirk, patting his friend on the shoulder, "we have the best Medical Officer in the Armada right here with us…if she can't put him back together, no one can."

It wasn't quite the answer he was looking for, but the light-heartedness of it was what he needed to calm down somewhat.

"Go clear your head, Sergeant, retire to your quarters for the time being if you need to, just get some rest," Corr semi-suggested of an order, turning to inspect the interior of the dropship, seeing a female Janitorial Drone that was still unconscious, plagued by various wounds and broken equipment protruding from her PAK, remnants of a SIR unit nearby, and the Commander's vicious blood that trailed out of the ship.

"Vard, remove anything dangerous from her PAK if you can, keep that SIR unit deactivated while you're at it," Corr motioned for the small Irken Communications Technician and master of Irken technology. He promptly saluted, brandishing tools from his belt. "Rha, you and Tuu take her down to the brig as soon as Vard's done with her."

The pair nodded, watching Vard do comply with Corr's orders.

"Rem, set course for Dirt, the longer she's on this ship, the more dangerous of a situation we may face."

A quick salute answered, the pilot and navigator doing an about face before making her way back to the bridge.

"Everyone else, carry on with your assigned duties, we have a job to do, we're not on vacation," he rounded out, seeing that he covered all the bases. Only he and the SIR unit known as Mrs. Quackers remained. The machine wasn't capable of expressing emotions or feelings, but even in logic, it knew what was going on.

"Captain, Sir," it spoke in its usual tone, "will the Commander recover from his inflicted injury?"

"…I'm not sure," Corr regretfully admitted, "only time will tell. Until then, all we can do is hope for the best."

The next several hours seemed to drag on as everyone tried to keep their minds off of the fact that Commander Vult, the soldier that brought all of them together, trained with them by their sides, and proved through unity, they needed no one else but themselves, was fighting for his life, literally. It was around mess time, everyone in the hall, eating quietly as opposed to sharing general conversation. Aero and Haxx managed to patch their own wounds up the best they could, enough to let their PAKs take over and do the rest of the work. Vard had his hands full in his workshop with repairing their equipment. Past that, all the others could do was simply wait in agonizing anticipation of the verdict.

"Hey, Volx," Rha beckoned, peering into the pot that held today's meal. "How much of this is left?"

"It's Lietuenant to you, Corporal," she made abundantly clear in her usual icy demeanor, "and why do you want to know?"

"Take some down to the Janitorial Drone. She finally came to and she's not exactly in a good mood. No need to instigate anymore problems."

"Let her starve," Haxx announced grumpily from his table without looking up, "she gets any of her energy back, whoever's on watch duty will regret it. She's no Drone, that's for sure. I don't know what she is, but after what she did, there's no way in Irk she's a drone…_vodeta_," he said under his breath, apparently a very demeaning word for a female Irken.

"There's no reason to call her that, Haxx," Aero defended, feeling as if he had something against females in general, "sure she retaliated and some…unfortunate things happened, but there's no reason we should deny her basic needs."

"Basic needs? If it was up to me, she's already be ejected out the airlock. After what she did in retaliation, the last thing I want to do is be nice or show compassion. We go to Dirt, throw her out the ship, and be about our merry way back to Vort where we should be instead of playing babysitter for the Armada, end of story. Compassion is for the weak, anyway."

"Maybe that's why you're not in charge then," Aero responded, turning to Rha, "even if there's isn't enough, she can have what's left of mine…" turning back to Haxx, "…I've lost my appetite anyway."

"More for me…" Haxx smirked, reaching for Aero's bowl, only to have a utensil knife slap the back of his hand.

It was a good thing he looked up to see who had done it before he spoke, Corr standing beside his table, knife still in his hand. He simply looked on as he rubbed his hand, awaiting for the Captain to speak.

"Corporal," he announced, getting Rha's attention, "take some food down to our guest. She's not a prisoner, but she will be held against her will to be returned to Dirt. Aero is right, Haxx, we're not heartless, and compassion in this case isn't for the weak."

"Besides…the last thing we need is the Tallest asking questions and wanting to know why we managed to kill a Janitorial Drone in our possession. I don't think "out of anger or revenge" would be a good answer," Aero pointed out, dumping the remnants of her meal into the bowl that Rha was going to take to Tak in the brig.

"…good point," the hot-headed Irken realized, "but it would be in everyone's best interest that you keep me off guard duty for a little while, not sure what I'll do if I see her."

Just as Rha left the mess hall to proceed back down to the brig, Sula appeared in the doorway, exhausted and weary. Her once pristine surgical uniform now soiled with dark green blood…Irken blood…Vult's blood. She lifted her protective surgical mask and visor, pulling the stained gloves from her hands. Everyone was already up out of their seats, approaching fast to hear of Vult's condition. Requests came in rapid-fire succession from everyone in a big, jumbled mess.

"Everyone…please calm down," she meekly requested, but was unheard by them.

"Atten-HUH!" Corr bellowed, getting the necessary silence she wished for, turning back to Sula, "proceed, Medical Officer."

With a nod and minute smile, she continued.

"As all of you were aware of, the Commander's condition was quite dire," the surgeon began, "so it was necessary for emergency reconstructive surgery. As Aero informed me of, his squeedly spooch had been nearly severed from the windpipe, causing profuse bleeding, hindered breathing, and a life-threat-"

"Is he alright, Sula?" Interrupted Haxx, "is he alive?"

"…yes, bu-"

A load of untold proportions was lifted from their shoulders, sighs and positive remarks for one another not losing faith.

"BUT," Sula finally garnered their attention again, finding it difficult to keep her own eyes open, "he'll be under careful watch for the next few days so he can recover and be monitored in case anything goes awry. As for his right arm…that was something that even I can't work miracles on. It was already cauterized, so even if I had the severed limb, I couldn't reattach it."

"There's nothing you can do at all?" Corr respectively requested of her, placating the current situation.

"Well…there is one thing, and I'd rather ask his permission first before following through with it," Sula began nervously, "I briefly spoke with Vard about it, and he said if he gets the right measurements and information necessary…he can fashion a cybernetic replacement. I won't do it against his will."

"…Seems fair enough," Corr nodded, respecting his commanding officer's own personal choices, "I know he needs rest before anything can be done, so let's leave it at that. In the meantime, Medical Officer… you need rest yourself."

"Yes, Sir, Captain," she weakly saluted, knowing he wanted her to retire to her quarters.

"Are we allowed to see him yet?" Haxx asked, knowing that someone had to say it.

"Not yet," Sula timidly informed, "he needs to rest, he's still being monitored intensively. It's a miracle he's alive, especially after all the blood he lost."

"No kidding, I spent the last two hours scrubbing out the dropship," Aero thumbed down the hall towards the hangar. As petty as it sounded, it was more laughable than anything now that they knew Vult, their Commander, and leader of the Shadow Strikers, was going to pull through.

Meanwhile they learned of Vult's condition, Rha had returned to the brig. It was more or less a storage area fashioned into one with welded metal bars keeping whoever was inside from getting out. A hatch at eye-level for most of those aboard the ship was able to be opened to allow minute access, such as providing prisoners with a meal and whatnot. The soldier approached the bars, Tak was sitting against the wall, still hurt from the wounds she garnered, but conscious.

"…I brought you something to eat," Rha presented in a nervous tone, opening the sliding door to place the bowl on the small shelf. His ill-at-ease nature around her wasn't out of fear, but for the fact she was being treated like a prisoner of war for simply running from her assigned duty. Granted, in the Armada, that was treason and punishable by death, but after all that had transpired thus far…she seemed to be dedicated enough to her personal cause and had her reasons. That alone was respectable on any level. She remained still as he closed the hatch, taking his seat just outside the cell on guard duty. Leaving someone as dangerous as she had proven thus far was the last thing they wanted to do.

"…It's better than the usual gruel the regulars in the Armada get," Rha attempted to make conversation, trying to show that it was nothing personal, simply doing their job…their assignment.

"Stop trying to act as if you're a friend, it's insulting," Tak finally spoke, her face still sore where Haxx literally kicked her in the teeth. She could have swore that a couple of them were chipped, "…and I'm not eating that slop…I have my own."

Rha notice then that she had a small knife and some kind of fruit, peeling the skin off of it, popping a piece in her mouth from time-to-time. How could he miss something like that?

"Where did you get that?" He nearly demanded, standing up, grabbing his rifle in the process.

"This?" She nonchalantly motioned with the knife, "I've had it the whole time. For Spec Ops, you're awfully sloppy when it comes to prisoner containment. I'm sure I could have injured another one of you with it if I wanted to."

"Drop it, now," Rha ordered, pointing at the floor.

"I'm using it, just wait one bloody second," Tak unbelievably countered, continuing to slice slivers off of the fruit.

Rha raised his rifle, disengaging the safety, waiting for it to fully charge and power up.

"I said drop it!"

Out of frustration, Tak stabbed the knife into the fruit, tossing it across the cell, letting it roll through the bars at his feet.

"There, happy?" She seethed, folding her arms much like a child would, "big, bad soldiers wasting their time with a…Janitorial…Drone," Tak growled through her teeth at the words.

Rha stood down, placing the weapon back against the wall, then picked up the fruit and pulled the knife from it.

"That has something to do with you abandoning your post, doesn't it?" He continued to make conversation, trying to pass the time, hopefully for her as well. Without realizing it, he continued where Tak had left off on the fruit, slicing it up to be eaten.

"Something…it has EVERYTHING to do with it!" She animated, almost irate. The disposed Drone quickly recovered, attempting to find interest in the bleak bulkhead to avoid the conversation. She saw how much he just wanted to talk to pass the time, and to be quite honest…it wouldn't hurt, anything was better than sitting and doing absolutely nothing for the entire trip back to Dirt.

Though risky, Rha put his hand through one of the bars, revealing the slices of fruit, offering them back to Tak.

"We have no interest in torturing you, nor do we have orders to do so," he explained, "all we're doing is taking you back to Dirt, as per the Almighty Tallest's decree…so take it."

It was odd, especially from a soldier, but she wasn't going to pass it up…she really enjoyed that type of fruit, something that was native to Vort. It rarely came to Dirt or any other Irken worlds, so she horded as much as she could when she had the chance. More or less snatching it back from him, she obliged, sitting against the wall once more.

"…what about your friends?" Tak commented, being a witness to kindness from a Spec Ops soldier, something she had never seen before, especially for what looked like a battle-hardened veteran. Just from that assessment of his appearance, she could have swore that he would have killed her for far less than having a simple knife. "…this unit seems…strange at best, what's going on with that?"

"It's classified."

"How classified?"

"Very, look, I can't tell you anything about my unit or the soldiers in it. All you need to know is that we have a mission to fulfill, and it includes returning you back to Dirt."

"Here I am, trying to make conversation, and you pull rules and regulations out on me," Tak unbelievably commented, seeing how he almost did a complete reversal to how open he was a moment ago. "How about this…we play a little game. You tell me something I want to know…I'll tell you something, anything."

"…depends on what you want to know." Rha saw no harm in doing so, it would pass his shift by, of which he still had 3 hours left. "You go first."

"Since you won't tell me anything about your unit….how about you then." Tak gestured towards the Irken soldier, munching on another slice of the fruit. "What's your story? What were you doing before you became part of what I see around me, all the secrecy and whatnot. You can tell me that much, can't you?"

"I'm not all that interesting," he sheepishly admitted, running a hand under his eye…the very same place where his moderate scar ran. "just your run-of-the-mill soldier."

"Looks like to me you saw action," Tak commented by observation, "where at?"

"It's a long story," The soldier responded, shifting weight in his chair.

"Well…in case you hadn't noticed…Corporal," the rogue matter-of-factly stated, glancing at his rank and insignia on his uniform, "…I've got all the time in the universe at the moment."

Maybe this shift of guard duty wouldn't be so bad and actually fly by after all.


	9. O, The Life of Secrecy

"So…Professor Corr turning out to be a black ops super soldier…didn't see that one coming," Joker commented as he continued scraping the disgusting filth left behind from the last round of soldiers for midday mess.

"Even I have to admit that this is quite…shocking to say the least," Digits answered in agreement, taking the trays and utensils from Joker, rinsing them off. "It was never really explained how Praxxus 7 was taken in Operation Impending Doom II, other than the Armada was successful in overtaking it and using it as a staging ground for Vort."

"Well, the Professor and his unit opened the floodgates to make it possible from what he said," DZ added, the rinsed utensils coming his way to be placed in the giant washing machine. It was necessary for cleaning hundreds, sometimes thousands, of trays of keeping a literal army well-fed throughout the day. "I wonder who the Drone they were sent to capture was, he didn't actually say, just called her a Janitorial Drone, one that escaped from Dirt."

"First Drone I've ever heard of able to hold their own against Spec Ops soldiers, especially coming rather close to taking out that Commander Vult. So far, he sounds next to invincible." Joker continued the conversation. "What about you two? Which one of the Professor's squad mates appeals to you the most? Vult's tough, and a great leader, kinda like me. Then again, Haxx sounds a lot like myself…but I am funnier."

"In your dreams maybe," Digits scoffed with a smirk, "I like Sgt. Vard, many overlook him because of his size, even chastised for it, I mean, from what the Professor said, he was about as tall as Zim, if not shorter. Even though he lacks stature, he wields incredible power by being a knowledgeable master of Irken engineering, I mean, he reverse-engineered SIR programming to build a spy drone to keep as a friend after all."

"Sounds like your long-lost father or something then, doesn't he?" DZ jested with a friendly nudge. Digits was a bit of an overachiever in that area of expertise that would rival even that of the mentioned Shadow Striker. "As for me though…I don't really have much of a favorite or one that I relate to the most, they all seem like established, refutable soldiers that were indeed the prime examples of what the Irken Empire of old had to offer."

"You can't do that, you gotta pick someone," Joker pressed.

"Fine…if I do have to pick someone," he grumbled, lulling over his decision, "…it would have to be…either the Professor or-"

"Of course you'd pick him, you've got a major crush on him or something," Joker interrupted with a chuckle.

"Hey, Joker?"

"Yeah?" He turned to face his squad leader, only to be met with a wad of refuse from the garbage disposal hitting him directly in the face. Despite his usual collected demeanor, Digits broke out in laughter at his friend's demise of a situation.

"You wear it pretty good there," he managed through his laughter.

The usual prankster of the friends didn't seem to be laughing as he wiped the collection of food waste from his visage, preparing to slug DZ.

Before he came close or Digits able to step between them, Sergeant Gis walked up in his usual manner…not happy.

"Is there a problem here, Cadets?" He demanded, getting them all to go to rigid attention, garbage still on Joker's face.

"No, Sir, there's not a problem, just finishing up our punishment for the day, Sir!" DZ barked out.

"Then why does he have scraps from mess on his face?"

"…because he was hungry, Sir," Digits said under his breath is a stifled laugh.

"What was that, Cadet?"

"Nothing, Sir!" He straightened up at Gis' intimidating demeanor.

"I…slipped, Sir, and fell," Joker lied, knowing that any of their usual antics would probably earn them another week of mess duty, or worse…latrines. Angering their commanding officer and drill instructor wasn't wise to say the least, especially not when he wasn't already happy with them to begin with.

"…Very well, carry on, Cadets," he finally said, moving about his business. Just as Gis was about to leave, he stopped short of the door. "Also, I think you better hurry up, Professor's waiting for you."

"…How did you kn-"DZ began

"As much as you like think I am, I'm not stupid, " Gis clarified with a smirk, "just keep your traps shut about it and there's no harm, no foul. You understand what I'm getting at?"

"Yes, Sir," He answered, knowing the sensitivity of the information that Corr was sharing with them.

"Good, now run along."

After putting up with mess duty for the past several days…they didn't need to be told twice.

"…so let me get this straight," Tak gestured to Rha, her tone not matching her mood or demeanor for once. Even she could be civilized from time to time. "I understood the bit about your action on the Praxxus 7 initial invasion in Impending Doom I, a very close call to losing your eye to shrapnel, but I didn't see you being a bit of a troublemaker?"

"I wouldn't say so much as a troublemaker, but I'm very…outspoken in my own ways." He clarified with a smirk, unsure if she saw it or not. Whether it was because of actual hunger or simply to placate Rha's generosity, she had finally accepted the bowl and was eating from it over the course of Rha's informative discussion.

"Knocking other soldiers out for making fun of your name is a wee bit extreme if you ask me," Tak commented as she ladled another spoonful.

"It's a terrible name, it sounds too…feminine for a male. The cold, unfeeling robot arm attached my PAK, just like it does us all, and I happened to get stuck with such a generated name."

"Doesn't mean you are female, in fact…I like it, suits you rather well," she complimented without realizing, but it was too late to retract.

She wasn't the only one caught off guard.

"…Thank you…I think," Rha scratched his head, "how's it suit me? I'm far from it, and this doesn't help anything at all," he motioned to his battle scar that had come narrowly close to losing an eye.

"What I mean is it is…deceptive," Tak concluded, trying to find the words, "you're clearly far from a weakling, you're a Spec Ops soldier on some secret mission and a lot of other things I'm not supposed to know about, but just by your name, others will think differently. The reminder of past conflict lends a feeling of deep-seeded anger, a lust for revenge to most, to others, a sign of a mistake that nearly cost you your life. They'll underestimate you, then you strike when they least expect it…correct?"

"Hmm…I've never looked at it that way before to be honest."

"You can't change what others perceive, but only your outlook on that perception," the rogue Irken philosophized with a twirl of the spoon before putting it in her mouth. "

"You're very educated for a-, well, someone that's _tasked _as a Janitorial Drone." Rha returned the compliment, feeling that he was actually building a bit of a friendship, keeping her placated and under control in the process.

"There are many things you don't know about me," Tak made clear, not so much as her usual threatening manner. "…I'm sure you want me share as it is my turn after all, right?"

Rha inspected the timepiece built into his forearm guard, surprised. His shift had passed without incident, and apparently he had much to say to the Irken held against her will over the past 3 hours. He did feel a little more at ease after speaking with her though, so it could be considered a form of therapy. It was better than beating Haxx into unconsciousness since he couldn't take a punch.

"Actually…I'm going to have to postpone that, I'm sure we'll meet again though…that is if you want to share, you don't have to, of course."

"I'm aware of that, Corporal, so it would be by my free will if I wanted to…so maybe next time you're on duty, you can be a good listener."

With a smirk, a hint of embarrassment for talking so much, he nodded, awaiting for his relief.

Just as scheduled and on time, Vard came from down the corridor and into the brig, his rifle nearly dwarfing him.

"Did you have any problems out of her, Rha?" Vard politely asked as his comrade stood up, stretching.

"None at all," he commented, knowing that if he said anything about the knife incident, she'd probably end up back in restrains inside her cell. "Just show a little respect and you'll get it in return."

"Why do you think I avoid listening to Haxx on anything then?" Vard replied to his friend, getting a light pat on the head from the taller of the two with a humorous smirk. "See you in a few hours."

Rha simply gave a wave of the hand as he walked down the corridor, only he knowledgeable of his destination. It would more than likely be to his quarters a few levels above.

Silence quickly engulfed the room as Vard sat there, much smaller than any of his comrades, his feet dangling over the edge of the chair as opposed to touching the deck. Tak was quick to notice how rigid he was, very nervous at that. She couldn't see his eyes through his goggles, but the color seemed to be drained from his face, very hesitant to even glance over at her in her cell. After getting a decent meal and some rest, she was feeling rather spry and in the mood for a little…fun.

"So…what's your name?" Tak abruptly questioned as she stood up from the cell floor, walking to the bars that separated them.

"V-V-Vard, Ma'am," he stuttered, recognizing her height instinctively as opposed to how they did things in the Shadow Strikers.

"Vard, eh? What do you do in your unit?"

"I-I-I'm the Technical and Communications Office-please don't hurt me, I was only following orders!" He finally broke, shying away from her figure standing at the bars leaning against them.

"What the devil are you talking about?" Tak questioned, perplexed, "I'm just trying to make conversation," she finally understood what he was getting at, narrowing her stare hard at him, "…what did you do to me?"

"…I-I-I r-removed all of your Invader-class equipment modules from your PAK," he attempted to stay strong, but his feeble demeanor was proving otherwise. "Captain Corr doesn't want you escaping, he didn't want to risk…anything."

He saw that she was know noticing the absence of her attached PAK legs. Come to think of it, it did feel a lot lighter than usual.

"You took out…everything?!" She unbelievably questioned, angered, "It took me forever to find those components! I had to dig through garbage to find every last screw, bolt, and connector!"

"I h-had my orders, I-I'm sorry," Vard responded, seeing he had indeed angered the dangerous and much larger Irken. It didn't matter that high-strength prison bars separated them, he looked at it as if it was the **only **thing between him and her.

Tak angrily paced back and forth a couple times before slamming a fist against the bars, rattling them, and startling Vard.

"I better get my kit back, it would be in your best interest," she threatened maliciously, staring daggers through the bars at the smaller Irken. If she wasn't so sure she'd get a swift retaliation or it, she'd reach through and grab him by his scrawny throat. "Otherwise things might happen…terrible, terrible things."

"I'll see to it that you get it all back once you're returned to Dirt, Ma'am," Vard made clear, his voice void of the shakiness that plagued it earlier. He was still clearly frightened, but he had quick resolve. The small Irken before her now looked like a battle-hardened soldier. Small or not, she wasn't going to underestimate his size.

"You seem like someone who prides themselves on honor," she finally sighed, attempting to just relax and let it go, "…so I'll take your word for it. If you lie to me, I'll make you, your friends, and this ship my next target of interest after I take care of…unfinished business."

Vard simply swallowed as he thought of the notion. Sure, if all of them had subdued her, it would have been without incident, but she still managed to take on 4 of them and nearly kill the Commander in one fail swoop.

"What's the matter with you?" Tak finally garnered his attention after a moment of silence, "even with that Corporal friend of yours, he'd be threatening or hitting me by now for what I've been doing to you…you scared of me or something?"

"Quite frankly…yes," Vard informed with a huff, avoiding confrontation, "you are skilled and were underestimated from what I could tell…but I've always felt…uncomfortable around…taller Irken."

"I do have to admit…you are a bit on the short side," Tak observed, noticing a drop in his spirits from simply citing it, "but…you're with this unit and all, so that means something, right?"

"…I guess so, I still don't feel like I belong here to be honest, "Vard began, abruptly looking up at her, "look, I don't want to bore you into a horrible death with my life story, nothing too pretty there anyway." He trailed off.

She seated herself against the bars, her back to him, looking over her shoulder.

"As I said to your friend, I have nowhere else to go. I may not want to be here…but I am courteous. If you wish to talk…I'll listen. From what I can tell…it sounds like it couldn't hurt, you have a bit of a self-esteem issue that is in dire need of resolution."

As Vard prepared to speak with Tak about whatever seemed to come to mind, but the topic of interest seemed to be his prior assignment, Aero was searching frantically, high and low for Sula. She finally slid to a halt into the medical ward of the vessel, finding the Medical Officer in question watching over Commander Vult, checking his readings as he recovered. Aero instantly noticed he was starting to look normal again as the color returned to his face and he seemed to be at peace as he rested.

Sula looked up with a perplexed look at the taller Irken's intrusion.

"What are you doing, Aero, why are you acting so…strangely?"

"I've been looking all over for you," she exasperatedly commented, heaving for breath from running place-to-place throughout the ship.

"Well, you found me," Sula dryly answered, setting a datapad down on the table next to Vult's bed. Aero latched onto her arm, pulling her to the other side of the room, pulling the curtain in the process as she did so for privacy. "Aero, what is the matter with you?" the Medical Officer managed being forcefully drug along, finally breaking free. "What is the meaning of this?"

Without hesitation, Aero unlatched her belt and dropped her pants down around her ankles, clearly catching Sula off guard. She simply stood there wide-eyed as Aero was naked from the waist down in front of her.

"What is going on down here!?" She frantically questioned, pointing to the area in question, more frightened than anything. "It wasn't there yesterday, I woke up today, and there it is!"

"…calm down, I'll examine you if that's what you're after," Sula finally broke from her awestruck state, taking out a device, plugging it into Aero's PAK, and began scanning it as she visibly inspected. "You had any…strange symptoms lately?"

"Well…first thing I did was vomit, really bad cramping in my spooch," she recalled, not too concerned that her nether regions were exposed as she stood there, pondering. Then again, Sula was female as well, so it wouldn't have made all that much of a difference. Even if their Medical Officer was male, the controlled blocking of hormones prevented maturing from ever happening.

In actuality, each and every one of them, all that belonged to the Irken race were children still, and would forever remain so.

"Uh-Huh…anything else?" Sula beckoned as she studied the readings on the PAK.

"Strange….feelings, I don't know what they are, I've never had them before."

"Can you describe them?"

"I don't know what they are! Just…feelings. I can't think straight, my body aches…I'm a mess." Aero informed in a frantic tone, pulling on her antenna in frustration. "I was fine up until we returned from capturing the Drone, then I started feeling…sickly. I thought it was just a concussion or something, but it just kept getting worse, and now my body's mutated today!"

"…It's not mutated, Aero, calm down," Sula concluded, more surprised than anything, "but I may know what's going on with you."

"What, tell me!" She demanded, shaking her by the shoulders vigorously. Sula simply broke her hold of her and stepped back from the larger female Irken who was yet to replace her pants around her waist.

"This is very rare, but it seems the hormonal controller of the PAK was damaged, did you hit anything with it down there?"

"I got knocked backwards into the side of her ship pretty hard by that weird SIR unit, I think I did hit it PAK first though," Aero attempted to remember, pondering. "I felt fine for a while, it didn't start happening until after mess yesterday."

"Aero…please put your pants back on," Sula requested, getting her to secure them once more.

"Is it an infection? A virus? A parasite? Am I going to die?"

"No, you're not going to die, be quiet for a moment and I'll tell you," she requested once more, annoyed.

It was killing her to simply wait for an explanation, the anticipation doing the job rather well as her eye twitched wildly.

"I'm going to be straightforward here, Aero….you're going through puberty."

"Eh?" She questioned with a confused look, tongue hanging out of her mouth, "Pooo-bear-ty? What's that?"

"_Puberty_, your hormone levels aren't controlled by the PAK anymore because the module was damaged, so you're naturally maturing into an adult. In the technical standpoint, we're all still adolescents of our race because of that. It's to stop individuals from…mating, the whole population control fetish the Armada has. The reason your feeling so sick and…icky is because of all the years it was absent, it built up, and hit you all at once."

"Can you stop it? I feel…weird, and I don't like it."

"I'm sure it could be fixed, but by the time I get the module necessary to clamp hormonal release down again, they'll already run their course…I'd probably do more harm than good at that point to stop it."

"W-will it go away though? The vomiting, cramps, spasms?" Aero continued, visibly shaken at what her body was going through, especially since she knew absolutely nothing of it.

"In time, yes, could be a few days before your body balances it all out and continues at a regular pace…could be weeks, it all depends. Look, I know you're frightened, but in actuality, this is a natural part of life, we all would eventually go through it if the Empire didn't restrict it."

"A-am I a defective now?" Aero's large, vibrant eyes requested of Sula, fear clearly in them. "Will I be deactivated for this?"

"No, far from it," the Medial Officer made sure, wanting to help her friend in any way she could. "In fact, I can only see you becoming stronger in all aspects after all of the symptoms pass, both physically and mentally. It is the natural way that our people and most other species of the universe are able to grow to adapt and survive their environments."

"This…puberty thing, will it change me, change who I am?" Aero pressed, Sula resting a hand on her shoulder to garner her attention once more.

"You may see things, personal matters mainly, differently than you usually do, but in general, no, there will be no drastic changes." She informed, Aero nodding in agreement, "This isn't anything to be ashamed or embarrassed by, Aero, and if you need anything or just need to talk about it, I'm here for you, just like a friend should be. Just because we're squadmates doesn't mean I can't be, right?"

"I guess so," she huffed in a laugh, "but thanks, that means a lot to me. Since you are the resident expert on medical…stuff, you'll be the first one I come to if I'm having a crisis with this…puberty thing."

"I'll try to keep my schedule open," Sula joked light-heartily as she left the medical ward, the airlock closing behind her.

"Sounds like I missed out on quite a bit," a weak, recognizable voice commented, startling her. She turned to find Commander Vult awake, a weak smile on his face.

"Commander!" She excitedly responded, rushing to his side, "how are you feeling, better? Is everything coming along fine in your recovery, any pain or discomfort I need to know about?"

"I'm fine, Sula," Vult weakly laughed, holding his chest where a hole hand been punctured through hours before, still tender as it healed. "A little banged up, but no worse for wear. No need for all of you to worry yourselves to death over me, I trained you well, you don't need me to stay combat-effective."

"With all due respect, Commander, the point is moot to tell us not to worry about you," Sula answered in a light tone. "Things wouldn't be the same around here without you, anyway, and I wouldn't have it any other way, Sir."

"Good to see that all of you haven't written me off yet then," he commented jokingly, looking at the remnants of his right arm in depressed disgust, "…but I'm afraid that my time in command has come to an end, there is no way I can be effective like this, even if I made a full recovery from this," he motioned to the medical apparatus that was reconstructing his tissue about his chest.

"Well…there is one thing, Commander, I wasn't supposed to say anything yet, but you are conscious, and I told the others that I wouldn't do anything you didn't wish for, but Vard said that he can construct a full cybernetic replacement, fully functional, and very resilient. With his help, I can attach it to the existing nerve endings and tissue present, and it will be a part of you to replace what is lost…that is, if you want that. I'm not going to force you to undergo this procedure if you don't wish to."

"Well…I trust the two of you, you on the medical aspect and him with the technology, but I'm open to the idea. I don't want to relinquish command because of my own physical shortcomings due to a grievous mistake I made. I am glad that this happened to me and not one of you. Haxx and Aero are alright, aren't they, Medical Officer?"

"They had a few minor injuries, but they have been treated and are just fine." Sula semi-lied, not sure if Vult was aware of Aero's issue with the rapid influx of hormones and her changing physiology. "As for you though, Sir, it may be a few more days before you're back up and on your feet, it was a pretty close call, I…I wasn't sure throughout the emergency operation if I was going to be able to save you."

"You, the absolute expert and best Medical Officer in the entire Empire by my standards, didn't give up on me though, did you?"

"No, Sir, I didn't."

"That's all that matters," He assured without force in his voice, "even if I did keel over and die, all of you know how to do your job and what needs done, not to mention Corr would make an excellent Commander, don't you think?"

"Yes, Sir, he would, but if avoidable…we'd like to keep you in charge," she grinned, taken in by his optimistic spirit, especially after such a traumatic event.

"How's the prisoner?"

Sula was caught off guard for a moment at his request, especially how calm and void of any ill emotion whatsoever he was. It was as if nothing at all had happened.

"To the best of my knowledge, Sir…she's still in the brig, under constant watch in 3 hour shifts by all of us to make sure she doesn't attempt an escape. Captain Corr is still cautious of allowing Sgt. Haxx to be part of the rotation since he is very…animated about what happened to you."

"Sounds like Corr made the right call then," Vult answered, reaching for a glass at the side of the bed, hoping to find some refreshment in it, "as long as she isn't being mistreated, all is well. Haxx allowed what is a risk and daily thing we have to deal with in our profession to become something personal by the sounds of it.

Do I hold a grudge against the Janitorial Drone for defending herself in an attempt to flee, causing this outcome? No, I don't, in fact, she's earned my respect and peaked my interest in looking into why there was such gross negligence in the intel provided."

"So you're not upset at all by this?" Sula warily questioned, unsure if it would set him off or not.

"Upset? I'm furious, Sula," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, yet, undirected towards her. "At the Drone, not so much, but at the Almighty Tallest, for I was told we were returning a Janitorial Drone, not someone with prior Invader training…or so she claims. If they want us to complete assignments of the caliber and secrecy they require, I need to know all the facts and information made available. This is an example of what can happen if that isn't the case. When I return with the after action report, they'll get a piece of my mind this time around."

"Commander, please settle down, Sir, I don't want your wound to re-open," Sula attempted, noticing how much he was moving about as he spoke. She couldn't blame him though, surprised even that he was still as reserved as he was in light of what had happened because of misinformation.

With an attempted sigh of relaxation, Vult leaned back in the bed. The doctor did know best, rest was the best medicine for the time being, no sense in aggravating it further.

"I'll go get Vard when he's done with his shift of watching her, Sir," Sula informed with a quick salute as she snapped to attention, "in the meantime, please rest for your own well-being. We're already on return to Dirt, and link-up with the Massive for the after action report delivery will take place right thereafter, so it would be in your best interest to be at full health before you go before the Almighty Tallest, Commander."

"Looks like I brought you aboard for more than your medical skills after all, Sula," he complimented her intelligence with a laugh.

Between Vult recovering from grievous wounds inflicted by Tak, a Janitorial Drone who has a more than questionable past, Haxx on the verge of ripping her limb from limb out of anger, and Aero having more…personal problems…things are very interesting to say the least aboard the Ghost of Irk.

Sad truth of it all was that it was just the beginning of what was to come.


	10. Stupidity, thy name is Haxx

"Does that connection look good to you?" Vard questioned of the floating drone at his shoulder, motioning to a singled-out wire of to the untrained eye looked like a jumbled mess.

It merely nodded in agreement as it hovered there via anti-gravity repulsor technology, probably the most interesting aspect about it since it was so small and possessed one for movement. Fabricated by hand, not to mention the AI software upon it was reverse-engineered from the coding intended for a SIR unit…not entirely legal as per Armada regulations, but it was better than not having anyone at all to talk to.

Being a Communications Technician had its perks, one of which he was rarely sent to the front lines on any enemy world for combat. Formally trained in doing so, he was capable, but it was nerve-racking to avoid having your head blow off on a daily basis. Vard still managed to his part for the Empire's efforts in universal conquest by providing communication between command vessels and ground forces on various levels. He'd like to think that he's saved a few lives, despite the sheer lack of respect he gets from his colleagues.

"A discussion for another time though," Vard spoke to himself as he pulled a protective mask over his face and eyes, preparing to weld more connectors together for the comm relay he was assembling for ground forces, part of an exercise more than anything. He had done the very same thing on Praxxus 7 mere days ago, only to have all his hard work all for naught. The only positive thing to come from that disaster was that he made it out alive…but many of those in his unit did not.

As he was melding two of the metal-braided connectors together, someone lifted his mask up. The sheer brightness of the welding sparks brought instant pain to his eyes as he yelped in pain, covering them.

"Hey, Vardy," a taller Irken soldier beckoned with a smug look about his face, tossing the mask to the ground beside the Communications Technician, "I'm feeling a bit parched out here in the sun, why don't you go grab me something to drink?"

Vard rubbed his eyes, finally able to see once more, blurred, but eyesight was still a possibility.

"I-I'm a little busy at the moment," he respectfully answered, "and please don't do that, it's very painful and could blind someone."

"What was that? Sounds like insubordination to me, Vardy."

"…I outrank you though."

"Rank doesn't mean dookie in case you haven't noticed, you sniveling smeet. Now go get me something to drink before I get upset."

Reluctantly, Vard put his tools down and made his way to his feet, nearly a foot and a half shorter than the other Irken soldier. He promptly shoved Vard, tripping over the conduit he was working on, and landing on his back on the other side, laughing at the smaller Irken's plight.

"It's too easy with you, Vardy, you're almost as dumb as that one Invader, what's his name? Zim, yeah, that's it."

Vard refused to show that comments like that, constant, scathing comments hurt him. The ones that hurt the most though was the mentioning of the similarities in height between him and Zim. **No one **ever wanted to be compared to Zim, no one.

"Who's in charge here?" A voice requested, garnering both of their attention. Vard turned to see it was a Spec Ops Commander…shorter than the usual Commander, but the uniform markings where there no less.

"Uh, I am, Sir," the bully of an Irken saluted, Vard still on the ground, trying to get up.

"Do you think it's fitting of a leader to mistreat those in their command?"

"No, Sir, I don't."

"Then why are you doing it to this soldier right here?" He continued, rage clearly in his eyes, but reserved in volume. "It's people like you that make me sick, you know that? If the time ever came, I bet you'd want your soldiers to aid you and save your life, wouldn't you?"

"I don-"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"I'm more than certain with the display I just witnessed, he'd let you die…and I don't blame him." He increased in crescendo, belligerent of the Irken before him, "…get out of my sight, you disgust me."

Taken back, the Irken finally slinked away after a moment of stunned silence. Vard attempted to get to his feet, watching as the Spec Ops Commander offered a hand in assistance.

"You alright, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir, I am, thank you," Vard managed as he was lifted to his feet, nearly dwarfed as he came up to the Commander's waist. He promptly dusted himself off and went to attention in his presence.

"You're Sergeant Vard, Communications Technician, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, Commander, I am," he responded, still in awe of the intimidating stature the Spec Ops soldier before him possessed, yet it wasn't matched by the gentle tone of his voice.

Without a reply, Vult handed Vard a datapad, allowing him to take it.

"I expect you to be there on time, Sergeant," Vult said over his shoulder as he walked away with a smirk on his face, "I need a soldier like you in my unit, I am looking for the best, after all."

"….in a nutshell, that's basically what happened," Vard finished up his story, turning to find Tak still engrossed in the conversation. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had fallen asleep in boredom. "and now I'm here, trying to fit it."

"Hmmm…." Tak pondered, tapping a finger to her chin, "you really let others treat you like that? There is a fine line between orders and mistreatment, if it was me, I'd ripped his spooch out and showed it to him before he expired."

"…I'm not violent though."

"You're a soldier, for Irk's sake," Tak countered, surprised that someone as soft as he was a Spec Ops soldier of all. "Have you actually taken another life yet?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I should be proud of it or enjoy it," Vard answered, backing his stance. "I do what is commanded of me, if it involves taking lives, then so be it, but I'm not one to take amusement in it. Who am I to judge who lives and who dies despite the choices the greater powers have made for both sides?"

"Why don't you just lay your weapon down next time and let them shoot you then? It will save you the trouble of killing yourself," Tak commented without realizing how painful it would have sounded to him until it already escaped her mouth.

"…I've tried before," he weakly stated in a near whisper.

"Look, I didn't mean that," the rogue Irken tried to make amends, "but I see what you've been searching for around you on this vessel in this unit. If it means anything…you belong here more than anywhere else I've seen in the Empire. I do have to commend anyone who has such an expertise of technology since you did remove my components from my PAK, not to mention that…thing." She pointed to Cypher as it hovered about, interested in its surroundings.

"You're rather…strange, you know that?" Vard finally concluded, looking over at her.

"How so?"

"You and I sit here and have a pleasant conversation, while before you were in our custody, you nearly killed my commanding officer and hurt my friends in the process. Yet…I'm not angry at you or for what you did." He explained with a smirk, his eyes still hidden behind the oversized goggles that covered them.

"You're the first Spec Ops soldier I've ever spoken with that didn't turn out to be a psychotic thug that took solstice in ripping spines free of the enemy, so the same can be said for you," Tak gestured nonchalantly, stretching her legs as she walked about the cell. Her wound on the right side of her torso was nearly healed, but very tender to the point of inhibiting her movement.

"So…what's your story?" Vard questioned politely, hesitant at first.

"The usual," she responded, "Irken Elite with Invader training, denied my chance to take the exam and be a part of Operation Impending Doom I or II for that matter, and currently tasked as a Janitorial Drone on Dirt, from which I left in search of the one that denied me my rightful place as an Invader."

"You're after revenge then?"

"No, it's not about revenge," Tak seethed, but quickly settled, knowing that he didn't know any better. "I'm going to take his mission and prove once and for all to the Almighty Tallest that I'm worthy of being an Invader, not him."

"What about your assignment on Dirt?" Vard questioned curiously.

"As I told the one before you, I'm leaving Dirt once more as soon as the lot of you are gone and busy with something else. There isn't a soul on that rock that can contain me there, and I will find a way off of it once more. I only hope that the Almighty Tallest decide against pulling your unit away from important matters to chase little ole' me down again."

Vard simply nodded in agreement, finding it was oddly…serene to be around the prisoner. At least it was never a dull moment.

Mess had come once more, essentially a lunch break for anyone from the rigors of constant training, watch over an unwanted guest, and a trip back to Dirt that was taking what seemed like an eternity.

"Aero, I know your…thing is causing some rather unpleasant things to happen in your body at the moment, but you do need to calm down," Sula whispered across to the trainwreck that was Aero. She was very twitchy, color was void in her face from the sickness she was experiencing from the rapid and sudden influx of hormones. It was going to be difficult to convince those who started asking questions that it was simply the recovering from a concussion.

"I am calm!" She expelled, clamping her hands over her mouth, unaware of her volume until it was too late. "I can't take this anymore, Sula, you gotta do something, anything."

"There really isn't anything I can do, Aero, I'm sorry," She apologized politely, despite her friend's ravaged look of pain and seething rage at it. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if she started foaming at the mouth.

"I'm about to lose it, I can feel it," she commented, her tone fitting that of someone that was on the verge of going insane, "I can't keep any food down, I can't sleep, my mind is constantly running about random…things, things I don't even care about. My uniform doesn't fit correctly like it's supposed to, especially right here," she motioned, cupping herself with both hands on the chest.

Sula promptly pushed her hands down before any of their friends looked over in curiosity.

"Don't forget sudden mood swings and irritability," she added under her breath, but knew Aero was a friend, and one in dire need at that, "I know it's painful and not pleasant at all, but I really don't know what else to do at this point, this is a very rare and unprecedented case."

Aero sat there, thinking of something, anything to beat or at least lessen the pain she was in.

"What about putting me under?"

"You mean Sedatives?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Aero responded as if she was on the exact opposite, "knock me out for a while with some drugs, I come to, and it's all passed, and whatever transformation or mutation that's supposed to happen will run its course and I'll be fine…right?"

"I don't have anything aboard this ship to keep you under for more than a few hours, and I don't want to risk an overdose by using a lot of it to lengthen it." Sula concluded, leaning closer, "and for the last time, you're not mutating, it's a natural process…."she sighed exasperatedly," how about this…I give you a diagnosis of a moderate concussion, Corr and everyone will leave you alone for a few days, strictly bed-rest, and you can ride it out there? If you need me, just call like I said before. You'll get through this, Aero, I assure you that."

"…you promise?"

"I promise," Sula smiled, "this falls under my expertise, so I'd like to think I know what I'm talking about."

She simply nodded, shakily standing up from the table, and proceeded to return to her quarters. Haxx stepped over with his bowl in his hands, a perplexed look on his face as he watched Aero leave.

"What's wrong with her?" He asked of Sula apparently since she was the only one near him.

"She's…not feeling too well, took a nasty bump on the head when you guys were down there. I'm giving her a few days bed rest so she can heal without any complications."

"A few days? What did she do, crack her skull open and lose part of her brain?" He pressed, mouth full of food. "I've never heard of a concussion taking more than a day or so to heal thanks to the PAK."

"I assure you its bad enough to warrant rest," Sula informed matter-of-factly, turning to face him, "…enough for you to leave her alone and not ask questions."

"Easy, I was just curious, you don't need to get on my case, sheesh," Haxx responded, walking away as he shook his head. He sat back down at a table with Rha and Tuu.

"So how was it watching the _vodeta_?" He asked of Rha, watching him drop his utensil back into the bowl in disgust.

"I really wish you'd pull your head out of your _c'hurta _and drop it," he responded with a hint of venom in his voice. "Did you not listen to a single thing that Captain Corr said? I tried to get it through your thick skull, too. The Commander's going to pull through and the mission's a success, just take it as it is and drop it. She's not as bad as you're making her out to be once you get to know her, I did by just talking to her. Making something like this personal is only going to bring about problems for you in the end."

"You siding with her then? Is that it?" He accused.

"Haxx, there are no sides!" Rha responded fervently, "she's a Janitorial Drone on her way back to her assignment, that's it! If you think I'm joking, I'm not, seriously…just drop it and go about your business."

"Fine, if none of you want to let me know, I'll find out for myself when my turn for watch comes around," he stubbornly continued.

"You'll regret it," Tuu commented, surprising both of them since he rarely spoke, "she's dangerous, and with your…charisma, it's a disaster waiting to happen."

"What do you know?" Haxx waved off since he never talked to them to begin with, "besides, she's locked up in a cell with none of her fancy gadgets…what could she possibly do?"

"Hey Tuu," Rha ignored Haxx, "10 monies says she attacks him somehow."

"…I'll take that action."

"Forget both of you then," the Heavy Weapons specialist motioned, standing up from the table. "I'm going down there right now and relieve Vard just to prove both of you wrong."

"Double or nothing it happens within 15 minutes," Tuu responded to Rha's bet.

"You're on." He obliged, turning to the exiting Haxx, "just as a head's up, her name's Tak, at least you can get that much out of the way before she maims you or something."

"If there's ever an opening for a comedian in the Armada, I'll be sure to refer you," Haxx sarcastically said to whom he thought of being a friend.

"Sula, you overheard that, ri-"

"As soon as I'm done eating, I'll get my equipment together," she interrupted dryly, knowing that the sad truth of it was it was going to happen, one way or another. "I'm not using any anesthesia if he hurts himself just for making me do extra work. I've seen enough blood from anyone to last me for a while as it stands."

Haxx's stupidity was going to get the best of him and was bound to end up caught on the receiving end of something horrible at the hands of Tak, whom was far from putting up with his antics at this point.

This was just an assumption; of course, there was the highly unlikely event that he managed to prove them wrong and not entice her into violence…but it was Haxx, after all, so "highly unlikely" was putting it lightly.

The stubborn Haxx strolled into the room, Vard looking up quizzingly.

"Haxx…what are you doing here?" he asked of him, "I thought Captain Corr told you to stay away from the prisoner."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, not really paying attention to what he was saying as he stared intently at Tak, whom appeared to be catching a bit of sleep against the wall opposite the bars, shrouded in darkness. "How about you go ahead and grab yourself something to eat, Vard, take a little break. I'll watch her until you get back."

"Well…I am a bit hungry," he commented, but shaking his head, "no, I can't abandon my orders. I was told to watch over her until the next shift change, which doesn't come for another hour and a half. You're not even in the shift rotation, Haxx, you have no business down here."

"I come down here, trying to be nice by doing you a favor, let you go eat with everyone else, and you start spouting off about orders, rules, and regulations? Come on, now, you know me Vard. Besides, that's all water under the proverbial bridge now, I cooled off, I'm fine now."

Unknown to either of them, Tak may have appeared to be resting, but she had one violet eye open just enough to see the two of them converse.

Vard still eyed him warily, regardless of the façade he was putting on. Ultimately though…he didn't care, it was just Haxx after all. Unless he went to that absolute extent of actually letting Tak out for some inexplicable reason, there wasn't much of anything either could do to the other.

"Fine, sure, whatever, Haxx, have fun," he finally caved, standing up, "don't blame me if something happens to you. I'll be back right back down after I'm done."

"Take your time, we'll get along just fine down here." He cracked a faux smile.

Shaking his head, Vard finally exited from view. Haxx picked the chair up, moving it to where he could sit backwards in it, legs straddling either side of it as he faced Tak in her cell. She continued to appear as if she was asleep, unaware of her surroundings while he seemed to be rummaging around for something. She promptly felt the blunt end of a metal rod be jabbed into her side sharply. If it had been her injured one, she would have cried out in pain for sure.

"Hey, Drone, wake up," Haxx ordered, poking with each word. "I said wake u-"

Tak snatched the end of the rod up, holding it in place with impressive strength.

"Stop pestering me," She ordered, eye still closed, "I'm resting."

"You've rested enough, _vodeta_, now on your feet, me and you are going to have a little…talk." Haxx maliciously stated, garnering the attention of one eye snapping open.

"What did you call me?" The Janitorial Drone demanded through grit teeth. She released the rod, letting him promptly retract it since it was intended to get her attention more than bother her.

"You heard me," he made clear, not caring, "I've got questions, you're going to give me answers."

"Insulting a captive is the LEAST productive thing you do if you're looking to interrogate them, you idiot. I suggest you quit while you're ahead before I get upset," Tak spoke as if she was an expert on the matter, "now go away…you're annoying me."

"You haven't even seen the beginning of annoying, _vodeta_."

"_I'kveda mirudu udessa c'hurta_," Tak spat in their native tongue, taking the Shadow Striker back a bit. It was rather rude and insulting, very much so for, well, for anyone in general. It was then Tak finally made the realization. "Wait a minute…you're the one I stabbed in the leg, aren't you?"

"So what if I am? What of it?" Haxx challenged in his usual bravado.

"You're making a big deal over that, all of this nonsense?"

"Nonsense?! It's much more than just nonsense! It was my leg…and you almost killed the Commander!" He angrily informed, Vult's current condition finally popping in his head. He always seemed to have an issue with priorities.

"I warned the lot of you to leave me be, you didn't listen, you paid the consequences," Tak mad explicitly clear, getting to her feet and approaching the bars of the cell. "If it wasn't for your marksman's incredibly lucky shot, I would have ripped all of you limb-from-limb and be on my merry away. Quit making this into a personal vendetta."

"Luck had nothing to do with it, _vodeta_," Haxx stared hard at her, a smug smirk of satisfaction on his face, "he's the best shot in the Armada, hands down."

"So he just waited while I picked all of you apart and nearly killed the other one? Maybe he hates you as much as I do then. Another thing, call me _vodeta _again, and you'll regret it." She finished, peering through angered slits of eyes.

Haxx simply laughed as he looked at her, mere inches…and the bars of the cell, of course, separating the two of them. He was quite possibly the most annoying, idiotic Irken she had met…next to Zim, of course. Everyone was above Zim, which was sad to begin with.

"I'm shaking in my boots," He sarcastically said, motioning with his hands, "what could you possibly do to me from there, in a locked cell that I should be fearful of…_vodeta_?"

Almost as if she had been planning it for hours, Tak reached through the bars with lightning speed and latched onto Haxx's uniform collar. Seizing the element of surprise to its fullest, the rogue Irken pulled with all her might and slammed Haxx's head off of the bars of the cell. Dazed, he was unable to break free of her grasp. It was quite fortunate that the force of the mighty blow against the bars rattled the hatch door open. Pulling him up against the bars before he could resist and escape, Tak brought the left side of his head into the opening.

"Maybe you'll learn to do as your told in the future," She growled, then promptly sinking her teeth deeply into the flesh of his jaw, clamping down, and refusing to let go.

Haxx was instantly snapped from his daze and began howling in a combination of pain and rage, fighting against the vice grip she had on him. His positioning against the bars prevented him from getting a blow in to make her let go, all he could do was flail against them. The more he tried to pull away, the more it hurt as flesh started to tear asunder.

"AAAAAH! AAAAAAHHHHH! GET HER OFF ME! GET HER OFF ME!!!" Haxx bellowed frantically, hoping his voice would carry to ears and get the assistance he needed. It didn't help matters any that he could feel his warm blood running down his neck from the wound, more than likely mixed with her saliva.

Vard looked up from his meal, perplexed. He always wore his comm. equipment in the form of headphones which increased his hearing dramatically. They came in handy for picking up transmissions, as well as minute sounds just below the threshold of hearing, physical interference or otherwise.

"Did anyone else hear that?" He questioned to Sula, Tuu, and Rha who were all at his table still.

"Does it sound like Haxx?" Rha asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, actually…he's…maybe we should go down there, like right now." Vard suggested, watching as Rha fished in his pocket, slamming a handful of coins down in front of Tuu. "Don't insult me by counting it."

"I only bet when the odds are in my favor." He commented as he slid the money into his hand, standing up.

"I should have known better, but there was a slim possibility he could have at least waited for a few moments, but look who we're talking about here," Rha answered, turning to Sula, whom had a case of her medical supplies with her already. "Looks like you get to play doctor with Haxx after all."

"I'm estatic," she drolly commented, shouldering the bag. "I'm sure whatever he's managed to do, he probably deserved it."

"SOMEONE…ANYONE?! COME ON, GUYS! HEEEELPPP!!!" Haxx continued, fighting back the tears in his eyes. Tak remained fixated on his face like a rabid weasel. The more he struggled, a sharp jolt recorsed through his body from the source. It may not have been life-threatening, but it hurt like no other, far more than the vibroblade wound she gave him prior. Maybe this would have been one of the better moments to simply let things go and not hold a grudge. He kept looking towards the door to the corridor in hope of watching someone come to his rescue.

Instead, he found them simply walking in without any rush. He'd be upset if he didn't have a crazy Irken female latched onto his face.

"Would you shut up!?" Rha responded, "we can hear you through the bulkhead in the mess hall."

"OH, GOOD, GLAD TO SEE YOU'RE SO CARING?!" Haxx sarcastically commented, trying to push away from Tak, "GET HER OFF OF ME!!!"

"Calm down," Sula replied, "I should just leave you be, but I'm driven by my duty for the unit."

"I'm sure you brought this on yourself, didn't you?" Rha continued, poking him in the shoulder. "She was pretty complacent until you came down here."

What Haxx wanted to know was why his fellow squadmates, his so-called friends, didn't seem to care that Tak was ripping a chunk of flesh from his face.

"YES, YES, I DID!!! NOW, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF IRK…get her off of me…it hurts," He frantically responded, slowly degrading into nearly begging like a smeet. He may not have been physically sobbing, but tears were strolling down his cheeks.

"You're never living this one down," Rha commented with a smirk as Sula pulled out a tool used for spreading open incisions.

"Now…Tak, was it?" She attempted very respectfully, "I know he may have upset you, but could you please be a dear and let go of him? I'm sure this is going to scar, so he won't forget this."

"Uhh-uhh," She growled, shaking her head in defiance. Haxx let out a renewed howl as she applied more pressure, sinking even farther if that was possible.

"Very well, hard way it is," Sula stated, putting the separator in Tak's mouth between it and Haxx's face, maneuvering it to have each arm of it to the top of her mouth and lower jaw. A simple squeeze forced Tak's impressive bite open, enough for Haxx to pull away and fall to the floor, clutching at his wound frantically. The collected pool of dark green blood didn't help matters any in traction on the metal floor. Sula simply retrieved her tool without causing Tak any discomfort.

She simply retracted back into the cell slightly, blood dripping from her mouth, disturbing enough as it wasn't hers. The wicked smile didn't help matters any.

Haxx, on the other hand, was scrambling to get the rifle against the wall and was going to put a bolt between her eyes.

"_I'kveda vodeta murata_!" Haxx angrily seethed as he brought the rifle up, powering it up. Rha and Tuu forcefully disarmed him, pinning him to the ground after kicking the rifle out of his reach.

"Haxx, knock it off!" Rha forcefully ordered of him, struggling to keep him down, even with Tuu's help.

"I'm going to kill her! Let go of me, Rha!" He continued, ignorant of his request in blind rage. "She bit me in my face! She's gonna die!"

Rha brought a closed fist down hard onto the side of his jaw that was ravaged by Tak's bite, knocking him unconscious. He was positive that the blow would have done the trick by itself, but impact on the trauma area made it easier with such a rapid influx of pain.

"Is he dead?" Tuu commented unsurprisingly as his body went limp from the blow. He couldn't see Rha deliver an impressive right to knock him out.

"No, he's out cold though," Rha heaved for breath, standing up, "I wish he'd stop being stupid and learn his lesson like any normal person would."

"How bad is it?" Vard questioned cautiously, showing just enough care for his comrade to not be included into his stupidity.

"I'm sure it's quite horrible," Tak commented through the bars, his blood still on her face, "I think I swallowed a bit of his flesh. Nice punch, by the way, Corporal."

"You…please be quiet," Rha managed, unsure as to how to comment. "If Captain Corr sees thi-"

"If I see what?" His voice beckoned from behind the cluster of Shadow Strikers, garnering their instant attention. Corr caught glimpse of an unconscious, wounded Haxx, blood streaked about from his attempt to grab the rifle, and Tak's grisly visage. To say he was upset would be a fatal understatement. He looked accusingly towards not only Tak, but those present.

"I want her shackled and gagged for the remainder of the trip," He ordered lowly, blood boiling. "As for the rest of you, him included," he pointed to Haxx, "conference room, now," he motioned.

More or less stunned from how angry he looked, they weren't quick to move.

"I SAID NOW!!!" Corr bellowed in command. His voice carried during training, so the enclosed space had enough acoustics to make all of them, even Tak, jump.

For some reason, they had a good feeling that today wasn't going to end well.


	11. A Deal, You Say?

The conference room was usually reserved for mission briefings, debriefings, and meetings in general. It didn't really fall under any of those three in particular, but the room would play host rather well to Corr trying to find out what the Irk is going on. It seemed as if chaos had ensued no sooner than Vult was nearly fallen by a mislabeled Janitorial Drone. If he wanted to keep control and order, something must be done.

Those in question consisted of Vard, Sula, Rha, Tuu, and an unconscious Haxx, still out cold from a powerful punch to the jaw. All he managed to do was bleed on himself and everything in transit before being Sula had a chance to stitch up the remnants of his face around his jaw. She already knew he wasn't going to be happy when he got a look at it.

Corr, on the other hand, was furious, but held within reason. No matter how murderous his rage may have been, he was in command, and reminded himself of his responsibilities and risks that came with the job. The 5 of them sat in their respective places around the oval table, Haxx more or less sprawled out in his as he lay there, Sula beginning treatment by cleaning the wound and soaking up the blood. For something that was non-threatening, it sure bled a lot.

"Medical Officer, is he going to be fine for the time being or do you need to do treatment right away?" Corr respectfully asked in an attempt at being civil, but his expression spoke otherwise.

"It…can wait, Sir," she promptly informed, even though it could have been her pass out of this situation, she needed to be present as well for being involved. Shadow Strikers may have relied on deception in the field, but they never lied or deceived one another.

"Okay…" He nodded, sizing all of them up promptly as he clasped his hands together before him, seething "which one of you would like to tell me what happened in full to result in this?" He motioned to Haxx…it was pretty self-explanatory.

Silence engulfed the room for a moment as they looked at one another, unsure as to what to say. Corr was already angry at them, saying the wrong thing could only further entice it.

"I'm not going to ask again," Corr pressed, agitation in his voice, "one of you better speak up before you forget what sleep is as I put you through your double workload of training day in, day out…for a month."

They all shifted uneasily at that statement. It was a test of wills, whomever cracked first was going to be the one that spilled the beans…it was no surprise it was Vard.

"Captain, Sir," He stood up at attention.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"I…I left my post after Haxx came down to relieve me for mess. Not only did I do that, but I allowed him near the prisoner, against your orders…Sir."

"On what grounds, pray tell?" The Irken Captain continued, still upset, but focused on hearing his comrade out.

"…There…were none, Sir," he admitted, embarrassed by his lack of usual upstanding focus on orders, "I found Sergeant Haxx…annoying, pestering me, so I sought out the wrong solution….I take full responsibility for my actions, Sir, and will meet whatever punishment you have in store to discipline me without incident."

The Captain studied him hard, his hands clasped before him as he peered over them at the nervous Vard.

"…You are free to go, Sergeant," Corr waved off, catching him off guard.

"Sir?"

"I said go, Vard," he reiterated without force, "at least you were respectful enough to my command and honorable to yourself and this unit to own up to your mistakes…" he turned to Rha and Tuu, "which is more than I can say for the others present."

Vard wasn't about to take his good fortune for granted, he had work to do anyway. Vult's cybernetic replacement was almost complete.

"What did I do…Sir?" Rha questioned unbelievably, remembering Corr's rank. "If it wasn't for me, genius here would have shot the prisoner and made all this effort for nothing…Sir." He pointed accusingly at the unconscious Irken across the table from him.

"We were holding him down, Sir," Tuu added, more respectfully than the Corporal. "He was a danger to the prisoner and himself, so we acted as such."

"I see…" Corr answered, his fingers interlocked before him, "Sula, were they instigators in this charade or did they simply do as they say? I want the truth, all of it, otherwise none of you are going to like me very much over the next month."

"Well…there is one small addition to that I may have overheard," she stipulated, gesturing with her fingers. The pressure had gotten to her, hiding anything at this point would have meant consequences for all of them. "Seeing how Haxx is, well…Haxx, they made a wager on how long and when it would be before he managed to get himself hurt by the prisoner."

The topic of conversation was beginning to stir, waking from his forced slumber.

"Oh really?" Corr sarcastically spoke in a surprised tone, "you two betting on when one of your fellow squadmates was going to get himself maimed for his own stupidity?"

Sula silently mouthed "sorry" to the two of them, distraught on her face. Rha simply nodded in acceptance, assuring her she did no wrong. Neither him nor Tuu were the type to hold a grudge over anything, especially something such as this. Sula had only done what was asked of her.

"Ohhh…Irk, my face," Haxx groaned, touching a hand to his wound, instantly remembering what happened. He shot up rigid, Rha sitting across the table from him. "You _I'kveda paratu_!" The injured Irken cursed as he attempted to stand up and retaliate against him. The Captain forced him back into his seat with surprising gusto, enough to put fear in his eyes.

"Sit down and shut up," Corr sternly ordered, returning his attention back to Rha and Tuu, "regardless of him deserving it or not, your nonchalant attitude towards his well-being disturbs me greatly. I highly suggest that you learn to value and support one another for what we're prided on. We're Shadow Strikers, we need no one but our comrades in this unit, if you lack that…you have nothing. What do you think you are? A bunch of hotshot, glorified Invaders?"

"No, Sir," the duo replied in unison.

"…I hope that we don't have any further matters such as this from this point on," Captain Corr added, eyeing both of them, "as for a…reminder to remember that, the two of you are going to clean up the brig and the mess that Haxx made all the way here."

"Why can't Haxx do it, it's his own blo-" Rha attempted, only to stop mid-sentence at the glare he was getting from Corr. He definitely had what it take to command respect…and fear from those beneath his command, "…er, Yes, Sir, right away."

"Good to see we have an understanding, Corporal dismissed."

With a prompt salute, the duo exited the room. Corr's full attention was now directed to Haxx, whom seemed to be touching the wound, then quickly retracting in pain upon doing so.

"As for you, Sergeant…would you mind telling me why you thought it was necessary to disobey direct orders, my orders at that, to stay away from the prisoner, force Sergeant Vard to abandon his post, and ultimately result in your current predicament."

"Umm…I'm sorry and it won't happen again?" He attempted cautiously, cracking a smile with it, only to cringe in pain from his still-open wound.

"If you would hold still, I'll stitch it back together," Sula commented, prepared with surgeon's gloves and the necessary tools.

"Nice try," Corr stated, narrowing his stare at him, "Haxx…you're a good soldier, you're knowledgeable in your trade, highly skilled at that….but you lack discipline. Discipline doesn't stop when training is over with or when the mission is complete. This isn't a game, vacation, or anything of the sort."

"Yes, yes, very serious business for the Empire, blah, blah, blah, big deal!" He snapped in response, irritated more by his wound as he yelped in pain, "Come on, Sula! You're supposed to be putting it together, not tearing it apart!"

"Stop moving or it's only going to hurt more then."

"I'm a reasonable man, Haxx, which is lucky for you. I suggest you watch your tongue when you talk to me, are we clear?"

The tone warranted seriousness quite well.

"Yes, Sir….sorry, Sir."

"Now, before this becomes a…serious problem, you need to start acting of what is becoming of your position, of this unit. Am I saying act like a lifeless robot? No, far from it. What I am saying is we all may be squadmates and friends, but this is our job, this is work, not play. There is time for play every now and again, but with the prisoner, especially as dangerous as she is, on board, orders and protocol must be followed. I told you what to do was in your best interest, you defied them, and look at the consequences."

It almost hurt how much Corr was right, and he hadn't even raised his voice in anger towards him. Haxx knew regulars in the Armada that would gut you in a heartbeat for pulling what he just did.

"I understand, Sir, and would it be possible that I could take my…reminder," he motioned to his face, "and call it a lesson learned?"

"I'm afraid not…your punishment to make you remember what happens when you defy my orders will be…one week, latrine duty."

"One week!?"

"…One month latrine duty, then. I want it sparkling, Sergeant."

He shut his mouth before he could protest once more, knowing it was only going to continue to grow in length. Sure, a day here and there as part of the rotation wasn't bad, but doing it constantly was a horrible fate to say the least. So…much…dookie.

"Yes, Sir," Haxx forcefully said through a seething smile. "I'll get on right on that as soon as I'm done her-OWWW!!!"

"For the last time, Haxx, hold still!" Sula reiterated, annoyed. "Every time you move, you're only making it worse."

"So let me get this straight, Vard," Vult commented from his resting position in the medical ward of the ship. "You and Sula are going to attach that," he pointed to the array of mechanical components that appeared to fit together to form an artificial forearm and hand, as previously informed, "to what's left of my arm, and it will move and act just like the real thing?"

"In theory…yes, Commander," he nervously spoke, "Sula would know more about the extent of damage present, but after calibrating everything and crunching the numbers, it should read your natural nerve signals and move as such. I apologize that it isn't exactly inconspicuous, the Empire isn't too keen on creating prosthetics for soldiers, so I had to use spare parts in the workshop, mainly SIR components. I've already started work on another version that will hopefully look as realistic as possible."

"This will do just fine, I assure you," Vult smirked, "I picked you for your technological prowess, Sergeant, I now see that my choice was correct."

The doors to the ward parted pneumatically, Sula walking in with her array of tools and a quickened pace.

"Sorry, Commander, we had a little…incident with Sergeant Haxx, I'll be over there in one moment," she spoke, cleaning her hands off and finding a new pair of surgical gloves. "Has Vard told you of the procedure and how it is going to go yet, Sir?"

"No he hasn't, Medical Officer, enlighten me….what was that about Haxx?"

"Depending on how well your wound has healed," she ignored his question as she gathered the necessary tools and chemicals to perform the operation, "with Sergeant Vard's assistance, we are going to remove the damaged tissue, attach the cybernetic frame to your existing bone, fuse nerve endings with the electronic receptors, and assemble it. It's rather straight-forward and shouldn't take too long."

"I hope you're using anesthesia."

"Of course, Sir, full anesthesia will be administered…as soon as I find where I put it," Sula trailed off as she searched her medical cabinets

"Can I make a request?" Vult spoke, watching her dig through the cabinet.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Can you make it local anesthesia…I would like to watch you do this procedure," he logically stated. "I'm rather interested in how this is going to work."

Sula looked over at Vard, whom simply shrugged, unsure to what to suggest. She was the medical expert after all, not him.

"With all due respect, Sir, it is much safer if you are completely under. I don't want to risk sending you into unconsciousness with shock from extreme pain."

"I'm not a smeet, Sula, I can take it," he assured, more or less disguised as an order. "I've never heard of this kind of procedure in my life, I want to watch it take shape. You'll find out quickly if you didn't give me enough painkillers or not."

Swallowing in nervousness, she simply nodded, re-calculating the amount of sedative she was to administer locally. She could appear to obey his request and inject the amount to fully sedate him, but the Commander wished otherwise. Much like everyone else in the unit, she held the utmost respect for him as a commanding officer and friend. If he wished to see her perform the procedure, then so be it…no pressure at all.

"I think you missed a spot there," Tak taunted, pointing at the blood-smeared floor through the bars.

"Just ignore her," Rha said under his breath, Tuu within earshot as they were on their hands and knees, scrubbing the vicious, emerald liquid with vigor. Irken blood had a tendency to stain…everything, and was notoriously difficult to clean from many surfaces because of its oily nature. To top it off…it smelled something fierce…something horrible. If the aroma could be compared to anything, a combination of sulfur, rotten eggs, and a hint of garbage completed the unpleasant combination.

Rha was yet to cross another being that smelled so bad in any way, shape, or form in the galaxy than his own race. As simple as Irken physiology was, it seemed it required the most disgusting elements to the senses to function properly.

"Could I get something to drink, the aftertaste is terrible," the rogue Irken continued, Rha finally slamming the scratching sponge into the bucket beside him with a splash of cleaning solution, standing up. He stood up, facing Tak, but kept his distance unlike what Haxx had done.

"You're in no position to be asking for anything, Tak," Rha recognized her by name, "yes, he's an idiot and probably deserved it, but you're pushing your luck. I'm starting to actually agree with Haxx for once…maybe it was a good idea to just eject you out the airlock."

"You're just saying that because I hurt your friend,' she continued in a tone that would anger anyone. "I thought you were different from the rest of this lot…guess I was wrong, you're just another murderous, psychotic idiot that blindly serves the Empire."

Just as Rha was about to reach through the bars and completely lose it, Tuu stood up casually.

"Don't do it, Rha, that's what she wants," he commented coolly as he dried his hands off, "She wants you to do it, she's playing mind games with everyone now. She's already gotten under our skin with this and ticked a bunch of us off, now she's working off of it. Emotions cloud judgment and concentration, she'll seize the opportunity and make a break for it first chance she gets. "

"Well, at least _one _of you is intelligent," Tak chastised coldly, "you should be proud of yourself for figuring that all out on your own."

"Which is the reason why we're going to have to disobey Corr's gag order on her," he said to Rha, surprising him.

"Why? The last thing I want to do is anger him twice in one day."

"You're more than welcome to open that cell door and go in there to try to tie her up, but at the moment, she's not going anywhere. Just leave it as it is and call it a lesson learned."

"…I don't know, Tuu."

"I'll take the heat if there is any, don't worry," He assured, resting a hand on his comrade's shoulder. Tuu may not have shared much about himself and talked seldom, but Rha knew if the time ever were to come, he could trust him with his life. Despite personality differences, it went the same with all those present in the unit, it was a part of everyday life to rely heavily on one another in order to function.

"I promise I won't bite…hard," Tak deviously grinned, only to be startled as Rha struck the cell bars with the metal rod that Haxx had earlier, clanging loudly.

"Quiet," he ordered, pointing the rod at her with a hard stare to match, "another negative remark out of you and you'll be sleeping the rest of your stay here from a drug-induced nap."

Even for someone as strong-willed and rebellious as Tak, she knew when it was time to admit defeat for the time being. Maybe she was wrong…maybe they all weren't idiots like Haxx.

As Rha and Tuu finished with their punishment for their hand in the Haxx incident, Vult was through with his procedure, and it was an astounding success to say the least. The cold metal and constant whirring of servo motors was going to take some time to get used to, but overall, it was much more welcome that relying solely on his left arm for everything.

More or less to be informed of the happenings in the past couple of days, he sought out his second-in-command, Corr. Much had happened, indeed, and being confined to the medical ward, he only managed to hear passing blurbs from Sula or whomever came in or by for a moment. Leader of this unit, it was his right and a necessity to know what was going on, after all.

"Sir…excuse me for not being able to clarify the first time," Corr unbelievably asked of Vult, "but what is it that you're wanting to do again?"

"I didn't stutter, Captain," Vult made clear, studying his new appendage.

Just as Vard had promised, the cybernetic replacement was doing the job thus far, quite articulated for something mechanical, and other than appearance, his mind was fooled into believing that nothing had happened at all.

"Commander…what you speak of is dereliction of duty. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Corr, think about it," Vult quickly responded, watching the volume of his voice in case of eavesdroppers due to the sensitivity of the information. "there is no way in Irk that she is merely a Janitorial Drone, after what happened planetside, I'd like to think that I know of all what she's capable of and exactly how dangerous she really is."

"I understand that much, Commander, but our orders were explicitly clear to recover her and return her to Dirt." Corr attempted to reason with his commanding officer and friend, "but simply letting her go and lying to the Tallest…that compromises our integrity as a unit serving the Empire. Sir, that is on the grounds of treason for disobeying orders, and we're well aware of the following punishment."

Vult nodded, letting out a sigh in understanding.

"I picked you for those virtuous qualities, but for your trust and loyalty to me as well, Corr," Vult spoke, resting his artificial hand on his shoulder. The Captain immediately noticed how heavy and inorganic it felt. The dull metallic luster further conveyed the idea around the segments of his claws, the flexible bands that interlocked between them and allowed for as close to natural movement as possible.

"You are loyal to me, aren't you, Corr?"

"Of course, Commander, I'd give my life for you and the Empire if need be." Corr quickly responded. He'd be offended if anyone else other than Vult had questioned him.

"In that order?"

"…I-I'm not sure I follow, Sir."

"Do you place your loyalty to me below that of the Empire or above? I built this unit on individual integrity and performance as a whole. One of us is to fail, we all do, likewise, we succeed as a whole, not individually. You're not a bunch carbon-copy soldiers that are as easily produced as they are killed due to a lack of coalition or true self-worth.

I pulled you and the others from the common ranks and gave you that possibility. My loyalty rests in you and the others, Corr. Without my unit…I am nothing. All of you directly reflect my worth as a commanding officer….I don't wish to compromise the relationship I share with my soldiers through conflicting interests. If you or anyone else aboard feel that you aren't comfortable with doing this, then I'll leave it as such."

In the deepest part of his spooch, Corr felt what the Commander spoke of. It was true that the Shadow Strikers were indeed different. Quite possibly some of the most varied and eccentric soldiers in the entire Armada brought together beneath one individual, only relied on themselves and no one else, and from behind the eyes of their very people, they made the impossible possible.

"So…what's it going to be, Captain? You with me on this one?" Commander Vult requested of him once more.

Corr thought for a moment, lulling over the possible outcomes. He was loyal beyond no other to Vult and his fellow Shadow Strikers…but the Empire was supposed to be first and foremost over everything, especially when they dealt specifically with the Almighty Tallest themselves when it came to orders.

"…I'm yet to have a reason not to place my full trust in you, Sir," Corr cautiously spoke with a smirk, "so I don't have a viable reason at this time not to."

With a huff of satisfaction, Vult patted the Captain on the back gently.

"It will only take a moment, Captain," the Commander assured, exiting the room with a wave of his cybernetic hand, "you have the bridge until I return."

"Yes, Sir!" Corr saluted from attention.

He may not have said it, but he truly did think it.

"What could they possibly benefit from by going through with what the Commander had planned?"

Tak was finding it more and more difficult to keep her sanity as time drug on within the confines of her cell. The time only passed by so fast developing intricate plots of escape and/or painful death to those that had the tenacity to imprison her, the mighty Invader Tak.

"…no, no, they're far too trained and prepared for something like that," she mumbled to herself, seeming to map out a plan of attack in her mind. "As soon as the cell opens though, I need to seize the opportunity and take out the guard, there would only be 9 more left after that, even less if they aren't in my way to the hangar…if I can find it, that is…this ship isn't standard build in the Armada, I know that much."

Out of frustration and boredom, she sat down once more, leaning back against the wall once more with a sigh. She turned and spat into the corner, the taste of Haxx's blood refused to vacate her mouth no matter what she did. As much as she wanted to do damage to the idiot, she was now regretting it for the simple fact the only thing Irken blood did worse than smell was taste.

"You're in an awfully talkative mood for someone that was unconscious the last I saw of them," A voice questioned, startling her. She looked up in surprise to see the Irken Commander that she nearly killed. His tone didn't warrant negativity, so she was courteous to respond similarly.

"You're looking well after coming within a sliver of dying," she chided, quickly reverting to her usual cold self, "if you came looking for an apology, you're wasting your time, Commander. The only thing I have to say or regret is that I didn't finish the job."

"Well…" Vult began, taking a seat in the chair, "I'm aware of that, and just to let you know, Dro-…Tak, there's no ill feelings from me. I was following orders, and you apparently didn't want to be apprehended for your own reasons."

"How very astute of you to notice, what gave it away?" She sarcastically responded.

"I suppose you're not in a talkative mood after all," Vult began, standing up once more casually, "I was here to discuss negotiating your release, but it seems you hold too much ire in you as it is."

"Wait, wait, wait, what was that?" Tak became interested as she ran to the bars, sticking a single hand through to gently grasp Vult by the sleeve of his uniform in hopes of stopping him. "You're going to let me go?"

"…It's a possibility at this point, but that's what negotiations are for."

Normally, she would remain rigid in her resistance, but something about this soldier, this Spec Ops Commander, struck her as odd. Under any other circumstances, she'd expected to be beaten senseless for information by a Spec Ops soldier, but something was peculiar about him, about all of them aboard this ship…it made it easier to relate to and proved progress could be achieved without violent tactics. He merely stepped forward in such a casual and impersonal manner was enough to peak her interest, especially after what she had done to him. Deep down, she was actually somewhat relieved that he had managed to pull through and looked as good as ever.

"If it means you'll let me go free as a bird, I'll tell you anything you want to know," Tak immediately opened up, "you're more than aware of how much I don't want to go back to Dirt, Commander."

"Which is precisely why I'm even thinking of making such an offer," Vult concluded, finding his way back to the chair once more. Seeing the desperation in her eyes, he already knew he had the advantage, "it's obvious enough as it is, but I don't think you're a Janitorial Drone at all, so why don't you tell me what I want to know."

"What might that be?" Tak responded, folding her arms across her chest.

Vult decided to find somewhat common ground with her, both being members of the Armada, different ends of the spectrum maybe, but she was honorable in her own regard.

"If you have prior Invader training, Invader expertise, and to top it off, Invader equipment…why are you programmed as a Janitorial Drone on Dirt? Shouldn't you be out conquering a world for the Empire? Off somewhere, prepping it so soldiers, much like myself, can come in and bleed for it, just for the Empire to turn it into something worthless?"

"I detect animosity towards Invaders," she pointed out with a raised brow.

"My personal opinions, a discussion for another time," he responded to assure it was nothing personal towards her, "so are you an Invader then?"

"I…would have been, yes."

"What happened?"

Tak recollected for a moment. It didn't take long, that day was forever burned into her memory, especially after what a certain Invader managed to do.

"Long story short of it all…Zim managed to ruin…everything."

"I'm sorry, did you just say _Zim_, as in Invader Zim?" Vult picked up on, his antenna perked upon hearing the name from Tak.

"Yes, the worst excuse of a living…thing in the entire Empire," she shook her fists, "through his idiocy, he knocked out half the power for Devastis…the very same half I was to take my final exam in. Instead, I was locked in my quarters and missed it, hence me…reassignment to Dirt. You are aware of that incident, aren't you?"

"I've heard of it, yes," Vult nodded, more knowledgably of it than she had thought him to be, "I had just shipped out right before that happened. So Zim is responsible for your current predicament and assignment?"

Tak nodded in agreement. This moment clearly took the prize when it came to awkwardness. Sure, she had been semi-reasonable up until she bit Haxx, but having a civilized conversation with the very individual she had nearly killed was strange at best.

"You're after revenge against Zim for ruining your life then is it?"

"No, it's not about revenge," Tak attempted to remain calm, frustrated that everyone thought that was her sole reasoning behind abandoning her post. "I'm a better Invader than he'll ever be. I may not officially be one, but I will find him and take his fake mission from him. I'll turn it into something even the Tallest would be proud of, and be granted my Invader status that I rightfully deserve."

"What about Zim though?"

"What about him?" She promptly responded, "If he gets in my way, he'll pay the consequences…dearly at that. I'm not one for vengeance, but if he presents a problem, I won't hesitate to do what no one else in the entire Armada will and must…deactivate a defective. I will be an Invader, mark my words, Commander, one way or another, I will become one."

"I wouldn't want anything less for the pathetic excuse of an Irken to be horribly maimed in some way or another," Vult responded, clenching his artificial hand tightly with a quick clang of metal, "it was because of him Impending Doom I failed, because I lost over 80% of my squad, and then forced to turn tail and retreat. Much like yourself, I was disgraced that day. I, too, don't believe in vengeance, but Zim is most deserving of punishment for what he has done to the Empire in his existence. It took all my resolve when I bumped into him at the Great Assigning a few days ago to not throttle the life out of him."

Tak huffed a bit of a laugh.

"I didn't think it was possible for someone else to hate Zim as much as I do," she smirked. "So…now about the possibility of letting me go and find him so we can do both of us a favor."

"It is a possibility…if you make a deal with me first."

"…what kind of deal?"

"I let you go and continue pursuing whatever it is that you're after with Zim and all, I'll even point you in the right direction. We have a Voot Cruiser we can spare that can get you back to your ship, loaded with supplies and necessary tools to finish your repairs…that is if you're willing to help me out." Vult finished with a hint of questioning on Tak's behalf.

"You name it, Commander, I'll do it," she responded, borderline of desperation, but she remained composed.

"A…favor," Vult spoke, "it may not be anytime soon, but I truly can't think of anything at the moment to get from you for your release, so a favor it is. You stay in contact with me, and when I need it…I'll call it in.

This will be something you can't refuse, Tak, I assure you that much, because if you do and don't own up to your end of the deal…well, you haven't seen any of us angry yet. We were just following orders when we took you in, and I'm sure you don't want 10 of the Empire's best at your heels with the intent to kill, now do you?"

"…deal, Commander," Tak finally answered with a glimmer of hope after a moment's thought, "but not before I take care of Zim and taking his mission first."

"Reasonable enough, Invader," Vult acknowledged with a grin, offering his cybernetic hand through the bars of the cell, "shake on it so I know you're someone of their word."

Hesitant at first as she eyed the result of her surprise tactic she implemented against them, Tak finally took hold of Vult's hand, feeling it unnervingly wrap around and grasp her own in a in a handshake. His ice-cold metallic claws looked incredibly intimidating, but surprisingly welcome at the moment considering the offer he had made.

She half-expected him to crush every bone in her hand and three fingers out of resentment, but beneath the hardened veteran exterior was a compassionate leader that knew there was something more to being in charge than simply commanding troops.

"When will I expect this favor to be asked of me, Commander?" Tak questioned as Vult retracted back through the bar, turning the tumblers on the locked cell door.

"With us…things are quite unpredictable," he mentioned, opening the door with a smirk, "but we'll stay in touch. Don't call us…we'll call you."


	12. Just Another Day at the Office

"I know we're doing our bit for the Empire here, Commander…" Haxx cautiously commented, remaining vigilant of his surroundings. Even if their self-contained helmets and communicators kept noise from filtering out, being distracted was just as lethal as exposure. "But I'm getting sick of working clean up duty here before the main forces can roll through."

"It's part of the job description, Haxx, get used to it," Vult replied in monotone, "this is standard procedure for invading populated worlds. Invader Larb prepped it, now the Armada comes in and cleans out the resistance."

"We're not regular Armada though, Sir. Why can't the regulars come through here and do this?"

"That doesn't matter," Vult made sure, looking over at the Irken soldier as he said it, "Take solstice in that we may save a few more lives by keeping the Vortians from using hit-and-run tactics from these structures." He added, pointing to the various buildings of the metropolis that formed high, artificial canyons. The squad consisted of Vult, Haxx, Aero, Vard, and Rem. Corr and the others were elsewhere, following similar orders for the sector.

Much of Vort was an artificial landscape, very similar to Irk. It was a giant, sprawling urban center covering most of the planet's surface that millions upon millions of Vortians called home…and very difficult to conduct ground operations. At any moment, pockets of resistance could lash out and be on the move. Brilliant, yet underhanded tactics made up for their lack of sheer numbers compared to the invading Irken. The motto "Fight smarter, not harder" came to mind quite well.

It was comparable to twilight as the suns of Vort were setting, the blazing heat finally giving way to a mild evening, light reflected off of Praxxus 7, now a sickly magenta with the utter mass of Armada equipment and vessels using it as a staging ground before coming planetside. Vult and the Shadow Strikers may have only been on the ground for a few days, awaiting the Tallests' orders, but he could already tell this was going to be the longest, most grueling campaign the Irken were to face yet.

The Vortians were masters of technology and in fact gave the Irken the very weapons, the concept and implementation, during the former alliance, now shattered. If there was any race in the entire universe that could stand a chance of stopping the Armada in its tracks in a toe-to-toe fight, it would be the Vortians. The Irken had assaulted Praxxus 7 and took it without incident, and now desecrated their homeworld with their filthy footsteps, a travesty that will not go unpunished by the Vortian ranks.

Commander Vult could feel it in the pit of his spooch…this was their planet, their home, and they were going to fight tooth and nail for every last square inch of it, no matter how much of their blood must be spilled in sacrifice. As a soldier, he was driven by his duty to follow through with the Empire's wishes, but as a commanding officer of quite a lofty position and such power given, the last place he would engage in a full-on assault would be Vort.

Before it was going to be said and done, gallon upon gallon of Irken blood would be shed to take this rock. Despite light resistance at most in the landing from Praxxus 7…darker days were to come.

"Well, I'm just glad that we're actually lending a helping hand instead of babysitting rogue Irken," Aero commented, seeming to be feeling better after her…incident. It was no secret anymore at what had happened, Sula having to give everyone a crash course in how their physiology works and what transformation she had undergone. It was…different, Aero was still Aero, of course, but she had changed drastically, both physically and mentally to a degree.

All in all…she was still the eccentric, outgoing, and somewhat rebellious individual she had always been, just now fully matured and more than likely would catch stares from other Irken for the fact she looked much different from them.

"Rem, how's our progress coming along?" Vult questioned after nodding in agreement with Aero. "I'm starting to agree with Haxx on this one for once, looks like they've already pulled back and are preparing to dig even farther in instead of waiting around to pick of Troopers or Irken Elite."

"About…halfway done, Commander," she responded promptly, looking at a holographic projection map from her forearm, "As soon as we clear this street here, we'll meet back up with Corr and the others…here," she pinpointed on the map a clearing, it appeared to be some kind of recreational park, a break in the monotony of skyscrapers and other structures jutting hundreds, even thousands of feet into the air. "The Armada wants to use this area as a forward base of operations and move more gear and soldiers planetside, so the sooner we do this, the faster we'll have reinforcements."

"-and Imperial Troopers to play hide-and-go-seek with the Vortians that refuse to come out and fight us," Haxx sarcastically commented, his Plasma Repeater Cannon resting on his shoulder as he walked in patrol formation. "We're good at breaking stuff, Sir, the Armada should have us go do that some more."

"Stow it, Haxx," he said lowly, checking the power reading on his rifle. After several hours of clearing buildings thus far, they were yet to turn something up. Sure, there had been reports of sniper activity in the area, but nothing concrete to go off of, and all to show were a few dead Elite Guard from a skilled Vortian marksman.

It was more or less out of habit and wanted to be prepared for anything, no matter how large or small…he despised surprises after all. No one could blame him, the last time they were surprised, it nearly cost him his life, and now has a permanent reminder every time he looks at his right arm. The limb felt as natural as it could be, but the ascetics said otherwise. He returned to his place in command in reality instead of dwelling on what had already happened, turning to Vard, whom was intently listening to his headphones with a hand pressed to them.

"Picking up anything on the waves, Vard?"

"Other than Empire chatter, negative, Sir," he responded, holding up a hand real quick, surprised by what he was hearing, "Scratch that, Sir, I've got something."

Like clockwork, the small Sergeant began his work, furiously typing in code on his forearm to hack the signal and find its source, sifting through the hundreds of comm. channels the Empire used, looking for something out of the ordinary.

"Signal…triangulated, and…bingo," he finished, his holo-projector showing the location of the signal source, "looks like a forward position to me, early warning or something."

Vult checked the position, then made it relative to their own. If it was correct on the source, they may have found their sniper's roost and a communications relay that would alert nearby forces of coming Empire combatants.

"Next building on the chopping block," he commented, looking at the glass and metal façade of it, glowing in the evening moonlight. "By the book, guys, we go in soft, out of sight, out of mind, and see if we can get the drop on them."

Nods and thumbs up came, each of them quickly fading from view into their invisible cloaking. With hand signals, Vult and his squad maneuvered into position to enter the structure, unsure of what awaited them on the other side of the door.

A single, white-hot streak of plasma, accompanied by the crack of a long-range rifle sounded, echoing from floors far above them. Vult watched it streak through the air down another thoroughfare. His radio crackled to life, but it wasn't anyone around him.

"Enemy sniper, take cover!" Corr's voice ordered, his breath labored, more or less out of surprise and haste to find suitable protection, "Rha, get your head down!"

The rifle discharged again, piercing the still air, and echoing off the glass canyon.

"_I'kveda murota_!" Rha's voice exclaimed over the radio. "Nearly took my head off with that one!"

"Stay down then, Corporal," Volx seethed.

"All of you, quiet," Corr ordered, "Tuu, take up position, see if you can't point him out."

"Bravo, what's your position?" Vult calmly asked of Corr amidst their dilemma.

"Zero-Niner-One-Niner, about 2 clicks…southwest of your current position, Commander," he similarly stated, gaining control of the situation, "We're pinned by a sniper…location unknown."

"Sending you coordinates now, Captain," Vult responded, marking the building that the shots came from, "tell me what floor and location it's coming from and we'll take care of it."

A moment of silence engulfed them as Corr slowly peaked around the corner of the rubble they sought cover in, the remnants of a commercial building that had fallen victim to Armada bombing runs. Tuu was laying prone a few meters away, barely visible from even Corr's position, on his side and looking at the Captain. Using the coordinates that Vult sent, he marked them on the squad mission map, Tuu giving a thumbs up upon receiving the information.

A third shot came uncomfortably close to Corr's head, chipping away at the rubble in a shower of molten metal, instinctively ducking back in.

"Got him, Sir," Tuu commented, "I've got him zeroed in on the…19th floor…3rd window from the right."

"You have a line of fire?"

"Negative, Sir,"

"Understood," Corr commented, turning his attention back to Vult and his other comrades over the radio, "He's all yours, Commander, 19th floor, 3rd window from the right."

"You heard him," Vult motioned, bringing a foot up, and busting through the doors of the structure. The area had been evacuated several days before, around the time that news finally reached Vort that Praxxus 7 had fallen, and most of the area was void of Vortian life whatsoever. Those that ran were only prolonging the inevitable, however.

The squad of 5 rushed through the doors, clearing the foyer of what appeared to be a residential block, suitcases and belongings strung about from the mass panic of fleeing.

"Clear?" Vult stated.

"Clear." Aero responded, checking her corners.

"Room Clear, Sir," Vard added, last one through the door, watching their six.

"Alright, 19th floor, double time," He ordered, attaching his rifle to his back in favor of the plasma pistol at his side. The rifle was unwieldy in tight spaces, such as a stairwell, and it made it easier to quickly ascend with the handheld weapon alone. If all else fails, a quick swipe with a plasma blade would put any resistance to rest.

For once, they were all happy that they had been drilled day in, day out with a grueling physical regime, fatigue nonexistent from clearing buildings all day. They felt as fresh as ever as they were wary of the noise they made, but essentially ran up each flight of stairs, one floor at a time. The last few levels were slowed to limit the noise created from pounding footsteps as they hoped to contain the element of surprise. Vult traded his pistol for the rifle once more as they made their way down the corridor of the 19th floor of the structure, scanning anything and everything for threats. The Vortians were crafty and were a fan of using traps after all.

The Shadow Striker Commander gave a signal to halt, promptly followed by a flurry of other signals, deciphered as "movement detected","10 hostiles", "breach, bang, and clear", and oddly enough "leave one alive for questioning." Their visors were a life-saver and helped him plan and anticipate before they were even ready to go through the door.

Life was still full of surprises, no matter how much planning you did, after all.

Without hesitation, the squad maneuvered into position, Vult and Aero on one side of the door, Vard, Haxx, and Rem on the other, stacked and ready to move in.

Vult nodded for Aero to proceed, the female Irken retrieving a concussive grenade from her harness, Vard grabbing hold of the sliding door handle.

Time stood still for a moment as the prepared to enter the room. With a nod, Aero pulled the pin free of the grenade, Vard slid the door open just enough to allow the device to roll through the crack, and then promptly closed it. His hand remained on the handle, as he awaited the device to detonate.

"GRENADE!!!" A voice exclaimed from within, alerting the others. It was no surprise, but it made things a little more difficult now that they knew for certain someone was coming in.

With a hollow _whump_ and a flash of light around the seams of the door, the grenade went off with its intended disorienting effects.

"GO, GO, GO!!!" Vult ordered, Vard slamming the door open as they began pouring in through the narrow opening. With heightened awareness of his surroundings, he saw what appeared to be most of the numbers at the other end of the room, a squad of Vortian regulars that hadn't retreated like the others had a couple days before. Even with his quick actions and thinking, his flesh burned as he felt at least three rounds strike home on his torso. The armor and material took a brunt of the damage, but it still pained him greatly. He quickly flipped up one of the tables that was in the center of the room with weapons and ammunition behind it, using the overturned metal tabletop as cover.

"Light them up, Haxx!" Vult ordered as the Sergeant joined him at his side.

"With pleasure," he coolly responded, bringing the rotary cannon to bear, spooling up the barrels.

In a hail of steady plasma, Haxx sprayed the other side of the room, literally mowing them down one-by-one. Vult turned in search for the remainder of his squad, but was quickly met with a charging Vortian. He raised his rifle in an attempt to stop the soldier in his tracks, but it was promptly knocked away, a solid right fist slamming into the side of Vult's helmet sent him to the floor, thrown off-balance more than anything.

With a primal growl for survival, the Vortian soldier, pounced on top of Vult, vibroblade drawn, attempting to finish the job. He was quickly stopped in his tracks as Vult brought his artificial hand to bear to stop the weapon from piercing his flesh, applying enough pressure to audibly crush the bones in his wrist. Wailing in pain, he retracted only slightly as the knife fell from his hand onto the floor. Enemy or not, Vult had to respect a soldier so willing to fight for their cause, even though it was futile to retaliate.

Seizing the opportunity, the Commander used his free hand and activated his plasma blade, cleanly running the soldier through the sternum and out the back. A face of shock and immense pain came over his visage behind his amber visor, Vult pushed him off and rolled him to the side, putting the blade through his heart just to make sure his adversary was dead.

The body jerked as he retracted once more, doing a quick visual scan of the room. He noticed Haxx was quite thorough at taking care of the soldiers that opened up on them as soon as they came through the room, their weapons silent, except for Aero, whom was struggling with what appeared to be the sniper, aiming assistance goggles over his eyes and the lack of a regular helmet gave it away. Vult attempted to intervene, only to be tripped by one of the wounded soldiers at his feet, still trying to stop him.

"You Irken are all…scum," the sniper growled menacingly as he was straddled across Aero, attempting to force his vibroblade across her throat. She resisted greatly with a raised hand grasped around his wrist while he forced both hands down, hoping to drive the blade home and do the job.

Despite her size advantage over him, the Vortian was impressively strong to say the least. Her free hand frantically searched for her rifle that was stripped of her in their fray. She bumped across something, looking out of the corner of her eye, finding it to be the large, adjustable wrench that was part of her gear for anti-vehicle duty.

Impromptu or not, it was all that she had.

Millimeters were all that separated her throat from the knife. Armored collar or not, the vibroblade would have made quick work of it and found supple flesh. Grasping it with all her might, she brought the wrench up as fast as she possibly could, catching the unsuspecting sniper cleanly across the face. As he cried out in pain from the blow, she could watched clearly as bits of broken teeth and vibrant, violet blood sprayed from his mouth.

Heaving for breath, she regained herself from survival mode and retrieved her rifle. The sniper was on his hands and knees, one claw grasped around his mouth as blood dripped from it onto the floor. Aero brought her foot up under his supporting arm, rolling him over, and slamming him into the floor on his back with a foot on his chest and the muzzle of her rifle pointed at his head.

All had transpired in less than a minute, but felt like an eternity. The Vortians were not to be trifled with and one of the few species that were a true threat to the Irken in military might and prowess. The Empire's propaganda filled many soldiers' heads with the idea that they were the best and invincible…all a giant load of dookie.

"Room clear?" Vult finally ordered after putting a mercy round in a Vortian's head. "Everyone good, anyone hit?"

"Clear, unscathed here, Sir," Vard responded, approaching the comm. station that he picked up on his scanners.

"Nothin' but bleeding Vorts over here, Sir," Haxx uncaringly informed, inspecting the soldiers. "Armor stopped two rounds, I'm vertical still."

"Got a live one over here, Sir," Aero informed, still heaving for breath from the ordeal.

"Keep him that way. Haxx, execute any that are still breathing, no sense in letting them suffer," He ordered, approaching Aero. By her posture and how she was physically shaking, he could tell she had a close call with the Vortian.

"_Vodeta!_" The sniper exclaimed to Aero, a very derogative term for an Irken female, even worse if another species uttered it.

Out of anger, Aero slammed the butt of her rifle into his face, further compounding his wounded mouth.

"Keep it up, you horned freak, see what happens!" She screamed at him, preparing to deliver another blow, Vult promptly grabbing the barrel of the weapon.

"That's enough, Aero," he said in a tone borderline of an order, "I've got questions for him, can't ask them if you kill him, now can I?"

"…no, Commander," she solemnly responded, trying to regain her composure. She was more ashamed of herself and embarrassed at her actions. It must have been straining mentally to cause the most outgoing, light-hearted one of the unit to snap in such a way, even on mission.

"Take a minute to collect yourself, watch the door to see if any more of them show up after all that commotion."

With a nod, she obeyed his orders, approaching the door to post up on it.

"Now…as for you," he turned his attention back to the Vortian sniper.

"You'll get nothing from me, Irken," he defiantly spat, blood dribbling from his mouth, staining his uniform and droplets on the floor accompanied it. "I'd rather die than betray my people! The tyranny of the Irken Empire will be met with great resistance by the Vort. Your so-called military might will amount to nothing, we will destroy you as we did on Praxxus 7 before!"

"Your efforts at remaining solid in your cause are annoying me," Vult sighed with irritation, grabbing hold of the Vortian by the collar of his uniform, bringing him within inches of his own face. "I've got questions; you're going to tell me what I want to know." He finished in a growl of intimidation.

The Vortian sniper simply spat in Vult's face, purple blood spattering all over his visor and combat mask with a sneer of satisfaction and his rebellious nature. He had thought of deactivating it only moments before and was glad he didn't. He drug the soldier by his collar to the remnants of the window, and held him out of it, dangling in the air high above the rubble-strewn street below.

"I'm getting aggravated," the Irken Commander stated warningly, "tell me if you have any more friends in the area, otherwise things won't end too…pretty for you. As a soldier, I'd rather die quickly from a shot to the head than fall and wait for my death. 19 floors is a good drop, a couple hundred meters at least, don't know if your recovery forces would recognized the remains…"

"Alright, alright, alright," he frantically responded, clutching onto Vult's arm in hope that he didn't let go of him. "There's…another post about a…click up the road, same setup as here. Please, just don't drop me."

"…fair enough," Vult responded, jerking him back into safety, allowing him to fall to the floor. He then pulled his radio from his belt, throwing it out the window, as well as anything that remotely looked like a weapon. "Now get out of my sight."

"Wait…you're letting me go?"

"Do you want me to put a bolt between your eyes then?" Vult asked, raising his rifle to do the job. "I'll be more than happy to if you want-"

"No, no, no," he rapidly answered, shaking his hands, "I thought…all you Irken killed your enemies regardless, no prisoners, all that jazz."

"In case you didn't notice, Vortian," Vult responded as the sniper climbed to his feet once more, "we're not regulars. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind and let my boys and girls have target practice with you."

The Vortian didn't need to be told twice as he sprinted out of the room, down the stairs.

"Sniper nest clear, Bravo," Vult looked out of the window, waving.

"Understood, Sir, we figured as much when you dangled the Vortian out the opening," Corr smiled, "proceeding to rendezvous as planned, see you there, Commander."

Vult ended his conversation with Corr, turning back to see Haxx firing single pistol rounds into the bodies he had dropped, Vard pushing a dead Vortian off of the comm. console to see if he could siphon any information from it. Rem was plotting their next waypoint to seek out the next forward post.

More irritating than anything, he inspected the plasma burns on his uniform, the scorched armor had warped and melted into slag. He would have been dead if he was wearing his Irken Elite uniform. With a sigh, he hefted his rifle onto his shoulder, looking out the window across the expanse of the Vortian landscape.

"Just another day at the office, I suppose," he thought with a smirk, looking up at Praxxus 7.

The next day, he watched from the top of a nearby building across the expanse of a park. A veteran of more than a few campaigns, even in his days in the Irken Elite, he had never seen operations on such a grand scale. Hundreds of ships were coming in and out of the area, dropping off supplies and soldiers. Legion upon legion, hundreds of thousands easily dwarfing the numbers that he saw on Praxxus 7 around him were at attention, awaiting orders from the force commanders.

"Looks like the Empire wants Vort pretty bad, don't they, Sir?" Haxx commented from beside him in their overlook. Waiting was the worst, so he thought it was best that they at least attempted to stay occupied by providing overwatch from a distance.

"Quite the understatement there, Sergeant," Vult huffed a laugh, turning to look at him, "how's your…" he motioned to the side of his own face.

"Still hurts like Irk, Sir," he admitted, running a finger by around it. Tak's bite radius was clearly imprinted into his face, a chuck of flesh ripped away from it. Any deeper, he wouldn't have been surprised if he could see his teeth through his cheek. "but I guess that's what it took for me to pull my head out of my _c'hurta_ and calm down…I'm sure Corr told you what happened, but Commander, you gotta understand my reasons for the way I acted though."

"I do, but Captain Corr was right, Haxx…you have to let things go. We can't make things personal, it clouds our judgment, which you found out the hard way, sadly. This is war, soldiers live to fight….live to die, it's a vicious cycle that we all know on a day-to-day basis."

Vult rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him an assuring shake, "I know you, Corr, everyone for that matter, care what happens to me and each other, and it feels good to know someone actually cares about you, your existence, and what would happen if that individual would no longer be with us. That bond is unbreakable; it's what makes us far superior than any Imperial Trooper, Irken Elite, and Honor Guard for that matter…it's what makes us Shadow Strikers."

"Thanks, Commander, I really needed that," Haxx smiled, seeing the softer side of his commanding officer.

"You're young, Haxx, all of you are a little more than myself…you've got plenty of time to learn from your mistakes. Just try not to make any if avoidable, okay?"

"Yes, Sir, will do," he saluted.

"Like I said before with you guys…I knew I made the right choices when it came to selecting my soldiers. Remain forever loyal to yourself, your friends, and the Empire…in that order and you'll do just fine."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around, Sir?"

"That's what the regular ranks want you to think, Sergeant. It took me awhile to figure it out…it took the failed assault on Praxxus 7 in the beginning to convince me. When I spoke with Tak, she was loyal to the Empire, but placed her own well-being before it. Her given situation, it was completely acceptable and I encourage her to continue doing so.

What I am trying to say is the delusion that the Empire is all-knowing, all-powerful, and invincible fades fast once you set your boots on the ground and enter the fray. When we're out there, Haxx…I'm not thinking about glory for Empire or pleasing the Tallest. Sure, our missions come directly from them and it may or may not please them if we complete the objective, but my mind is focused on staying alive and making sure all of you make it back in one piece. I question not my orders, nor the reasons why we do what we do, but I am far from blindly serving a cause.

Besides…soldiers like you, Corr…everyone, are hard to come by, regardless of the special training we've all went through. Extreme and abnormal view of how things work, yes, but in case you haven't noticed…our profession isn't exactly normal compared to the groundpounders."

Haxx simply nodded, taking in his sagely words. Commander Vult was easily the most intelligent individual he had ever come across in his lifetime, a very skilled soldier and respectable leader, but not without a softer side that appealed to those in need of just someone to talk to. He had mentioned it before to them, something about being a family, but the concept was difficult to grasp. Other than the cold, unfeeling robot arm, he had never known anyone or anything else to show such compassion and guardianship.

"Commander, Sir," Corr's voice beckoned, getting Vult's attention.

"Yes, Captain, what is it?"

"When's our next assignment? I know we've been rather busy the past few days, but it's good to stay on top of things after all, right, Commander?"

"You're at my side when I go get them, Corr, you'd know if I get them or not before anyone else," he chuckled, "are you itching that bad to slot Vortians?"

"No, Sir, I apologize for being so straightforward about it, but this is an ongoing campaign, and I know the Armada needs our expertise somewhere if the Empire is to succeed in taking Vort." He clarified, "with regulars planetside finally, it's only a matter of time before we crush any opposition and the planet will belong to the Empire thereafter."

"I'll say this much," Vult explained, "Vard received word that in order to "promote efficiency", as the Tallest declared, they're going to entrust a liaison between them and us to keep us here in the field instead of shuttling back and forth."

"Whom, may I ask, Sir?" Corr was curious as the Tallest had only gave them their orders in person in secrecy. The more "outsiders" added to the collective allowed for security breaches and the spreading of information that could be…damaging to them and the Empire to say the least. Vult's expression only further demanded pursuit of the answer.

"Just take a wild guess, I'm more than certain you'll be surprised, I know I was if it is true since the message was unconfirmed for sure on that part, but knowing the Tallest, it was due to their lethargic nature that they didn't specify."

"I'm drawing a blank, Sir, I haven't the vaguest clue," Corr truthfully admitted.

"…Well, let's say he used to be the one that most of us feared and is currently one of the more important individuals in the Armada, having to run a branch of it and all."

It suddenly clicked inside the Captain's mind at who Vult spoke of.

"You don't mean…"

The Commander nodded, Corr more shocked than anything.

"Yes, that is exactly who I speak of…The Irken Elite Guard Supreme Commander…Commander Grimm."

Grimm was a bit of a topic of discuss throughout the Empire. He was a more than capable soldier, frightening in skill and appearance with a stare that could bore holes through armor. A look that sent very chills down the most hardened spines of veterans. His lofty position commanded him great respect, as did his prior service record before heading the affairs of all Irken Elite Guard in the field.

Despite having such an intimidating demeanor and power at his control, he was known for being quite sophisticated, never in a wrinkled or dirty dress uniform and spoke eloquently. Even so, Grimm is known to be a bit of a cynic, and has been described as a "horrible monster" in battle by the enemy…and his own soldiers as well. Nothing less of perfection satisfies his expectations. In theory, the Empire is supposed to be perfect, but what Grimm demands is far more, possibly ascending even that of mortal understanding.

In short, a perfect example of strong leadership, yet a prime showing of the cruelty the Irken were capable of in the ranks. Vult had met the Tallest before in person, but they were far from intimidating in the same aspect that Grimm possessed. His name was often associated with the harbinger of death, which seems to be far more than a coincidence when the naming parameters came about in his hatching years ago.

"I hope that doesn't trouble you, Corr, you're still going to be at my side as my second-in-command is supposed to be, correct?" Vult asked of him.

"Of course, Sir…it's just that I've never met Commander Grimm…I don't know what to expect or what mindset to have."

"Well…neither have I, so we'll find out together then, now won't we?" Vult smirked, hiding the uneasy feeling in his spooch.

Just from the stories alone that he had heard and circulated throughout the Irken Elite…the smallest thing could set him off and Irk knows what would happen. Grimm had a tendency to make annoyances and offenders…disappear, usually by his personal involvement at that. Ill-received actions seemed to possess…grim consequences when dealing with the Supreme Commander of the Irken Elite Guard, Commander Grimm.

The more Vult thought about it, the less appealing it became to have someone such as Grimm be a liaison between him and the Tallest. Of all the soldiers in the Armada, the hundreds of millions of other Irken…why did it have to be him?


	13. Two Races, One World

"Corr, stop fussing with your uniform," Vult spoke as the two walked, bearing their Spec Ops dress uniforms, boots polished into gleaming perfection, and the adornments with near-mirror like reflection. "It's not going to get any straighter."

"Forgive me, Commander, I just want to make a good impression with Commander Grimm…especially if even some of these rumors hold true." He admitted with a sigh. Even he was surprised at how much he was getting worked up over his appearance. The Almighty Tallest didn't seem to care all too much, just as long as they were in uniform, but the stories alone proved quite different with Grimm.

The pair, SIR unit included, walked briskly over the trampled ground, the prinstene lawns of the park had been decimated into churned-up soil and mud from the traffic that had come through. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers marching over the terrain tended to do that, not to mention the battlemechs and vehicles that accompanied them. To their left was in fact the mentioned battlemechs, lined up and ready to be sent out, ranging from the smallest scout and recon mech to the dreaded Maimbot. It had to be the vehicle depot, the perfect line of plasma battle tanks were placed in front of them

The elevated position across the open vast expanse was prime location for the Deathwave Cannon batteries as he could see, ready to deliver fearsome volleys of artillery support upon request. It was frustrating to say the least to see such an impressive display of military might, yet it was unable to help them in the first attempt of Praxxus 7. The past was the past, though, now was the time to make a difference.

A communications array and command post stood out above all the other prefabricated structures present by its large dish and antenna that jutted from it. Other than the armory, the sea of soldier's quarters were uniform, stretching from one end of the makeshift base to the other, able to placate the vast numbers present.

Their destination, however, was Commander Grimm's personal quarters, a somewhat more stately and comfortable option compared to the standard issue. Just from the exterior, it was nearly twice the size of a normal soldier's quarters, and with Imperial Troopers and Irken Elite, they more often than not had up to 4 sharing the same space. A soldier's life wasn't one of luxury, so it would seem.

"Just remain calm and collected, like you always are…just like when we are in the Tallests' presence," Vult came to the conclusion to hopefully help his second-in-command be a little more at ease. "He's an officer and a soldier, just like you and myself, show him respect, and we'll get it in return."

Corr nodded, finding the words someone easing.

"I truly hope so, Commander."

There were numerous Irken Elite, belonging to the lower rungs of the command hierarchy by it seemed, just a tad taller than Vard at best, but all dressed in the uniform that both Vult and Corr once dawned. From what they could gather, the soldiers were moving boxes and other various items into Grimm's quarters. Vult stopped a shorter Irken Elite with a gentle grab of the arm.

"Excuse me, Soldier, but is this Supreme Commander Grimm's quarters, correct?" He politely asked, making sure their destination was correct.

"Yes, Sir, Commander," the soldier saluted, "he's right inside if you need to speak with him."

The Irken Commander nodded, allowing the Elite to go about his duty once more. Politely waiting for the next pair of soldiers to emerge from the entry way, Vult and Corr entered.

It was immediately clear who Grimm was.

Next to the Tallest, Vult had never seen an Irken that tall before, even so, if the need even arose, he had the possibility of being a candidate for selection of a new Tallest. His uniform was rather peculiar as well. It contrasted the usual Elite garb greatly, lacking a single piece of armor.

Instead, it was all some type of fabric, the same shade of violet that most of the Elite Guard wore, with vibrant gold edging sewn extravagantly into it. Atop his head was an officer's cap of similar design, the Empire's insignia adorning the center of it, just above the black, polished bill. His uniform was decorated with numerous medals of accomplishment upon the left side of his chest, his specialty rank of "Supreme Commander" displayed on the other side. An old-fashioned holster held his plasma pistol as opposed to the usual magnetic clip, and at his left hip was a sheath, an elegant and decorated hilt of a sword visible. His pants matched as well, a single, thin gold strip running down either side, the cuffs tucked neatly into black, knee-high boots with metal toecaps. Anything that wasn't fabric or sewn into the uniform was polished to gleaming perfection, down to every last button.

If the uniform wasn't intimidating enough, his lithe, narrow build that accented his height added a new perspective all in its own. His face was gaunt and features stood out prominently, primarily his eyes. At least that much of the stories was true, a single look, hardened or otherwise, seemed to send chills down the spine…especially since that was what Vult felt as soon as his placid gaze locked with his own.

Just as Grimm seemed to begin to address Vult and Corr, a loud crash and skittering of glass promptly followed. All eyes darted to the source, a shorter Irken Elite was on his behind, the remnants of a mirror scattered about in broken shards, as well as a face of sheer terror written all over him. Grimm slowly approached without a word as the soldier panicked, attempting to gather the pieces, only to watch them further break in his hands and fall to the ground once more.

"On your feet, soldier," Grimm politely requested without moving, his eyes locked on him into narrow slits.

"Forgive me, Sir, it was an accident, I-"He attempted to defend as he stood up, visibly trembling with fear.

"An accident? Soldier, you are more than aware that accidents cost lives in the field, aren't you?" Grimm questioned, the volume of his voice remaining within reason, as if he was simply conversing as opposed to scolding him for his mistake. Vult noticed that the Supreme Commander's left hand took hold of the sheath of his officer's sword that hung from his belt, other in the room shifted in posture. The tension was heavy in the air.

"Commander, please for-"

Vult hadn't ever seen a traditional metal blade such as what was at Grimm's hip, but it was drawn in the blink of an eye and the deed was done. He hadn't a clue what had happened until he felt something thick and wet hit him in the face. A quick check with his hand found it to be dark emerald blood spattered on his face and uniform. Putting two and two together, he noticed the fresh drawn lifeforce dripping from the honed edge.

The soldier's body slacked slightly, the head slowly rolling backwards to reveal a clean slice all the way through, then finally falling to the ground, the body collapsing into a heap as blood pooled from the wound. Grimm's expression didn't change as he pulled a small swatch of cloth from a pouch in his belt, quickly slinging the blade to remove the excess before placing it around blade, wiping it clean. It was then he looked up with a sigh at Vult once more.

"I'm terribly sorry," he spoke nonchalantly, his tone didn't warrant any regard for the life he just took "…it's just difficult to find good help these days. Please excuse the mess, I just made the trip from handling Praxxus 7."

Grimm took notice to Vult and Corr's uniforms finally, looking past the "mess" that he had managed to create on the Spec Ops Commander's once pristine dressing.

"Are you sure you're in the right place, Commander?" Grimm politely questioned…looking at Corr as he addressed him. "I am the Supreme Commander of Irken Elite Guard for the Armada, not Special Operations."

"Sir…he's the commanding officer, I'm Captain Corr," he respectfully pointed out with a nervous clearing of his throat.

The Supreme Commander retracted slightly with a perplexed shift in his visage.

"Hmm…that's odd to say the least…you're a bit short to be a Commander."

"Yes, Sir, I'm aware of that fact," Vult smirked slightly in good spirits, acting as normal as possible despite being around such a prestigious soldier. "I received a message, Priority Three directive to my unit for you, one Supreme Commander Grimm, to act as liaison between us and the Almighty Tallest for our mission parameters."

"Liaison, you say?" He stroked his chin in thought, coming to the conclusion. He did have to commend the shorter Commander for his urgency and focus on business, "Oh, yes, now I remember…you're Commander Vult, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir, that is correct," He nodded, continuing respectfully, "I was instructed to come to you for our assignments instead of shuttling back and forth from Vort to the Massive to promote efficiency and instill glory for the Empire…so the message stated."

"Of course, for the glory of the Empire…" Grimm chuckled, Vult immediately taking notice to his change in posture. Minute or not, you tended to pick up on subtle changes and could read people as a leader.

Grimm leaned back in his chair slightly, placing his hands before him in a contemplative manner, slowly drumming his fingers as he peered over them through hazel eyes. It seemed his tantalizing stare attributed much to his rare eye color. The manner his antenna laid down the back of his head and bent up at the ends was strange as well. It flowed well with his look, staying in place as he removed his cap, placing it on the desk, then folding his arms as he leaned forward.

"Tell me…do I look like a fool to you, Commander?"

"…N-No, Sir, of course not," Vult assured, not wanting to upset him.

"Then please, don't insult my intelligence," Grimm made clear, his brow only furrowing slightly. He was yet to see the Supreme Commander get truly angry, even after the flaying of his own soldier. "I remember you and Captain Corr quite well, your transfers anyway, along with 6 others to Special Operations, then pronounced KIA right there after. I may not be in the loop, but I'm knowledgeable enough to put the elements together to see the big picture. Do not allow yourselves to be intimidated by me, I assure you I am as docile as possible…until you show incompetence and a complete lack of regard for regulations, and by far the most infuriating…directly disrespecting me. So…let's try this again, Commander Vult, shall we?"

Vult swallowed nervously, feeling Grimm's stare pierce through his very person.

"…With all due respect, Sir," he began, remaining firm, "our assignments and affairs are highly classified, and without…proper…clearance, I'm not at liberty to discuss them."

Silence engulfed them as Grimm simply remained fixated on the Spec Ops Commander. After what seemed like hours, the Supreme Commander lightened his stare slightly and leaned back a little.

"You're a Commander for a reason, I see," he commended with a slight smirk, "very becoming of an officer to say the least. Mild-mannered, strong-willed, things necessary for a soldier to lead and command others in the heat of battle without incident. I will say this much on the matter, Commander, in order for me to provide assistance when necessary or should the need arise…I need to have a little light shed on the subject."

"Thank you for the compliment, Sir," Vult nodded respectfully, compromising, "but I'll give you as much information necessary without subjugating my integrity and orders."

The taller Irken understood what he was getting at, motioning for the Irken Elite Guard that were still present to leave them for the moment. A simple wave of the hand towards the door was all that the precision-drilled soldiers needed to understand classified information was going to be discussed…more or less to placate the Supreme Commander or suffer his wrath. Even Vult respected the amount of control that he held in his power.

"That will do just fine, Commander," Grimm nodded, reaching into a drawer of his desk, placing a holodisc, identical to the very same the Tallest had bestowed upon him prior. "I received this early yesterday directly from the Almighty Tallest, I'm assuming it's your mission briefing, I haven't looked at it."

"I'll say this much, Supreme Commander," Vult began as he reached for the holodisc, "my unit consists of those 8 soldiers that were listed as KIA, as well as two Imperial Troopers. We are a highly-specialized unit that is…employed by the Almighty Tallest with direct contact and receive our orders from as such. As for actual deployment…I'm afraid I've already said too much, Sir." He respectfully finished, pocketing the holodisc.

"Fair enough, Commander," Grimm waved with his hand lazily, his eyes remaining transfixed on the pair of Spec Ops soldiers. "Excellent work on softening up Praxxus 7," he complimented. "It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, sadly, everyone seems to turn a blind eye to the truth right in front of them."

"Our motto holds true then, I suppose, Sir," Corr commented, his attention still focused on the Supreme Commander's uniform and sword. "…even in plain sight, we stick to the shadows."

"How fitting…"

"If I may, Sir," Corr continued, finally getting the courage up, "but that uniform…it is from Xen-Era, correct? Your sword is a cavalry blade issued to officers of Lieutenant rank or higher during the same time period, just as our people became space-faring, is it not?"

"My, my, aren't you the astute one, Captain," Grimm smirked contently at Corr's historical knowledge, "you're correct. I favored the design over the current since I have a taste for it, very fitting and becoming of an official such as myself after all. As for the blade…you are indeed correct, but I've had a few…modifications made to it to keep it up to date and within contention of the current standard of warfare."

Corr nodded, enthralled by Grimm's divulgence. The Supreme Commander glanced to the time display on his desk.

"Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me," He began, placing his cap back atop his head, straightening it out. "I have to deliver an all-broadcast address to the troops before operations officially begin…for the regulars that is. Once you're done with your assignments, return with the after-action report, and I'll inform the Tallest."

"I completely understand, Sir," Vult nodded, standing at attention with Corr following suit, saluting. "I'm more than certain our mission is to kick things off, so we'll get to work."

After returning the salute to the Spec Ops soldiers, Grimm offered his hand.

"You're exactly the type of soldier this Armada needs, Commander," he commended, Vult grasping Grimm's much larger hand to shake it. "Good luck out there."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," Vult humbly accepted, finally doing an about face, Corr and the SIR unit following suit as the exited Grimm's quarters.

"Well…that was quite the experience, Commander," Corr commented as the two of them marched steadily side-by-side, Vult fishing the holodisc out to load into the SIR unit for decryption procedures. "He is a tad…brash, but a competent officer of the Empire."

"Some of the rumors confirmed, others dismissed," Vult added in response, looking at the bloodstains on his uniform. "It's going to be a pain to get that out…I'd rather deal with him than put up with the sheer lack of regard and dismissal that the Tallest present when we go before them though. Leaders or not, Corr, they're lack of respect for what we do is…most disturbing to say the least."

"My faith is as unwavering as much as yours is, Sir…but regretfully…I must agree with you," Corr added, his gaze following the hulls of the plasma battle tanks they had passed on the way there. The Vortian suns' rays glistened off the polished, sleek metal of their hulls, a parade of destruction at the ready, much like all the Irken forces present, all waiting for the signal. That signal…was the "inspirational" speech that Grimm was to give to his troops, as well as boost the morale farther of the entire Empire as they prepared to embark on what was going to be the most difficult campaign yet and ever faced in the Empire's recent history.

His uniform impeccable as always, the adornments glistening in the sunlight from the podium he stood at on stage, looking out across the sea of rank and file Irken Elite Guard, nearly a million strong, stretching as far as the eye could see. Pristine violet armor and emerald heads of varying height watched on in awe, a plethora of colors of the spectrum of eyes all on one man…Irken Elite Guard Supreme Commander Grimm.

"Soldiers of the Empire, young and old, veterans of conflict and new recruits alike…lend me your antenna," Grimm began, peering out across the immense crowd before him. His voice echoed through the silence even without the help of sound equipment. Grimm was known for commanding great respect amongst his troops, but even this level was unprecedented.

"You all stand before me today over a million strong, a force unparalleled in operation during Impending Doom II, and quite possibly the largest army assembled yet under the current Tallest' regime. This is the result of the finest military training possible by the universe's most powerful race, a culmination of those years spent sacrificing blood, sweat, and tears…all for that begins today. Though numerous, all share a common goal, as does the mighty Irken Empire…the conquest of Vort.

Regardless of past alliance, their treachery in the plotted assassination of Tallest Miyuki was exposed, and is now shattered. It was a grave mistake on their behalf to provide the Irken, a race known for its cunning, for its military might, with the necessary tools of destruction to begin the righteous conquest of the universe we rightfully deserve.

Precaution must be taken, however, as this is their homeworld, and they will defend it down to every last man, woman, and child if need be. They will fight tooth and claw for every last square inch of ground, anything to turn us away from our goal. Defeat is all that awaits them, but the Vort will see to it that we pay the toll of our conquest in blood spilled on our newly-acquired world. The only blood that will be let will be that of the Vort to stain the landscape a deep shade of violet. Their bodies will break, their minds will shatter, and their defiant wills will be crushed!

It matters not, for their fall and our rise is destiny. Even now, this planet's people quakes and cowers with fear at your prowess, at your might. The Vort are strong, but even so, are no match for the Empire."

Grimm slammed his fist into the podium with vigor, emphasizing on his words, increasing in volume.

"They will be crushed beneath the boots of the Irken Elite! The fall of the planet is inevitable and its pathetic resistance is a nuisance at best! Those who stand to oppose us will be cut down without remorse…without mercy! No army, no matter how numerous or skilled, can withstand the Irken Elite! The Almighty Tallest want this planet added to the Empire's collective of conquered worlds so we as a people may benefit and continue our destiny of universal conquest, then so be it! Their word is law!"

By now, the soldiers whom had given Grimm utter silence were cheering vigorously, a million voices of the collective all screaming out patriotically in a low hum that shook the very ground. That rumble reached even Grimm's feet upon that platform at his podium. Their dedication was enough to bring even a minute, yet proud smile to curl about the Supreme Commander's lips.

"Go forth in the name of the Irken Elite Guard! Go forth for glory! Go forth and conquer this wretched planet, decimate those who are foolish enough to make a stand against you! It is only a matter of time before the Vortians and this world will take a knee and bow to the incorruptible might of the Irken!"

The cheering was uncontainable, despite being in rank and file, it was still chaotic and a sight to behold. Grimm thrusted his fist into the air, many in the crowd following suit as a show of respect for him as hundreds of thousands of armored fists in the air. He then pointed out across the sea of soldiers, panning.

"Now… Elite Guard soldiers of the mighty Irken Empire! Go forth and wrought destruction unlike what this world has ever seen! Make it known that the Irken Empire will not be trifled with and you truly are the most feared military entity in existence!"

Grimm slammed his fist once more, not raising it as he let on the podium.

"DEATH TO THE VORTIANS!!! THIS WORLD IS OURS!!!"

"…and that was the conclusion of Supreme Commander Grimm's broadcast to Armada ground forces planetside on Vort earlier today," the camera cut to the female Irken news anchor, pressing a headset to her head with a single finger, speaking into the microphone that was attached to it. In the background were Irken forces moving about, preparing to officially set out. "The Supreme Commander of Irken Elite Guard made it explicitly clear that it will only be a matter of time before planet Vort will be conquered and added to the Empire's collection beneath the successful drive of Operation Impending Doom II thus far. Enemy combatant strength pales in comparison, and will be, in the words of Supreme Commander Grimm, "be crushed beneath the Empire's might" To those valiantly fighting in the name of the Empire on Vort and across the universe, I wish you luck and bring glory to the mighty Irken race.

Coming up in our next segment, a recap of worlds already conquered, current affairs on Irk, and the weather, this has been Correspondent Nezz of the Irken Military News Network, reporting to you live from planet Vort, signing off." She concluded with a bright and cheery smile that rivaled even that of Aero in a good mood.

"Haxx, turn that garbage off," Rha shoved him in the back, "if you're going to watch it on your visor, at least turn your comm. link off to the rest of us."

He stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance, but that proved difficult enough in their current…situation. That "situation" was wading the subterranean sewers beneath the city streets of Vort in waist-high…flow. Irken blood had a pungent odor, but this was easily the most horrible thing every conceived by smell. The viscous, brackish sewage flowed past them to whatever destination the system had designated.

"Garbage?" He finally retorted, gagging from the smell. Even with the combat mask that filtered out many dangerous substances, it was useless against the smell. It wasn't exactly comfortable to begin with, so if he had a choice in the matter, he'd rather not wear it. It was good against shrapnel however. "He is an excellent orator, Rha, educate yourself to enjoy a masterpiece in motion."

"Don't strain all your brain cells at once now, you need a few to breathe and talk at the same time."

Haxx responded with a shove of his own.

"I felt inspired after hearing his speech to…I don't know, kill anything that's not Irken on this planet and bring it to its knees, that's all…all in a day's work."

"Then you didn't listen close enough, Sergeant," Vult commented from point as they trudged through in a patrol line. Haxx craned his neck to look at him in the front, holding his rifle above his head much like the rest of them where to avoid getting dookie all over it. Last thing they needed was a weapons malfunction due to clogging.

"What do you mean, Commander?" Haxx scratched his face in confusion, quickly retracting in pain as he remembered his fresh wound from Tak.

"You did exactly what he and the Empire wanted you to do and feel," Vult continued, keeping a sharp eye out. This may have been the last place any sane individual would want to be, but he had already been surprised once before.

"You're telling me you don't feel one bit motivated by his words…Sir?"

"He knows how to deliver an address quite well, I'll give him that much," Vult nodded, "but there was a complete lack of hard facts, only estimates and powerful, emotion-stirring references."

Haxx was still dumbfounded at precisely what the Commander was trying to explain.

"How long did he say it was going to take before we conquer this rock?"

"Well…the newscaster lady recapped and said it was only a matter of time."

"…I say a year if we're lucky," Vult calculated, "which means I'm more than certain that Grimm delivered a plan of action to the Tallest with an estimate around 6 months. What about enemy combatants?"

"Again, just another reference of us outnumbering them, Sir," Haxx began, starting to see what he was getting at.

"Captain, about how many Irken soldiers are there in the Armada currently?"

"Approximately 875 million, Sir," he promptly responded, "every single Irken alive is a member of the Armada."

"What were the actual figures for Vortian forces that Vard dug up?"

"…just under 50 million."

"Ha! See, we do outnumber them," Haxx pointed out, hoping to prove Vult wrong.

"There are only about a million Irken planetside, Haxx," Rha answered before anyone else could.

"Exactly, and those 50 million soldiers the Vortians have? Where do you think they're all at? Unlike the Empire, they don't have any intentions of expanding through militaristic means, so they're more centered around their own world and system."

"Uh-huh…I'm still not seeing the connection there though."

"For Irk's sake, Haxx," Rha sighed, annoyed, "he's saying that all 50 million of their soldiers are on Vort, most of them anyway, we have about a million, that's 50-to-1 odds, which are terrible. I swear, you're the du-"

"50-to-1?! Why doesn't the Armada send more soldiers then?"

"After what happened on Praxxus 7 last time, they're more than cautious at throwing waves of soldiers into a meat grinder," Vult commented unenthusiastically, looking over his shoulder at his unit in tow, "I'm telling each and every one of you now, this is only the tip of the iceberg. Days are only going to get longer and darker from here on in. The Vortians are equal to us in technology, what they lack in sheer numbers, they make up for in strategy and tactics. This is the last place I'd full-on assault in the entire universe with the conditions."

"What do you mean, Sir?" Haxx questioned cautiously, the ominous nature of the Commander's words didn't help matters any.

"What I mean is when Grimm mentioned that Vortian blood will stain their surface…it's going to be matched if not surpassed by the blood spilt by the Irken forces taking it. A healthy estimate of casualties by the time we take this planet would be upwards of around…15 million, don't you think, Medical Officer?"

"Sounds about right, Commander," she commented without hesitation, having witnessed the aftermath of battle and knowledge of the Irken body coming into mind. "I wouldn't be surprised if it were to go to an even 20 million."

"20 million? There's no way!" Haxx unbelievably questioned, shaking his head at the idea, "that's a lot of Irken-"

"-Of which will not be missed because they are immediately replaced with fresh soldiers from Devastis, and those are in turn replaced by freshly-hatched smeets off the facilities of Irk." Commander Vult interrupted, "A vicious cycle that proves anyone and everyone is expendable beneath such a regime…"he laughed to himself, surprising everyone, "…I'd like to see them try to replace any of us with some fresh-faced smeet, isn't that right, Shadow Strikers?"

Haxx's foot caught on something below in the quagmire of feces and fell face-first into the disgusting flow with a wet sloshing. Vult had stopped to see what the commotion was all about to see Haxx had disappeared beneath the surface of the sewage and Rha was laughing uncontrollably.

A moment later, the Heavy Weapons Sergeant's head exploded to the surface, rubbing at his eyes as he was covered head-to-toe in Vortian excrement, coloring his exterior a black streaked with whitish-yellow fluid. He coughed and gagged with gusto.

"You alright, Sergeant?" Vult asked him, trying not to chuckle.

"IT'S IN MY BITE WOUND!!! IT BURNS!!!" He exclaimed, still retching from the apparent taste as he clawed at the open wound now festering with Vortian sewage, or would be if nothing was done about it.

"Sula, help him out, would you?" Vult asked of the Medical Officer.

"…on it, Sir," she huffed, finding it annoying that it was nearly routine to keep fixing Haxx's problems that he was usually responsible for the cause of. First having Tak nearly biting part of his face off and now this…what could possibly top it?

"Maybe you'll learn to watch where you're going and button that mask up," Rha sniggered, still fighting off fits of laughter. Maybe it was best that he took his own advice regarding his mask. Haxx's hand latched onto his ankle beneath the surface.

"See how you like it…" he commented under his breath, jerking Rha off his feet as he held his foot above the surface, watching him fall down into the flow much like he just did. He flailed in similar fashion, fighting his way back to the surface as Haxx seemed to forget about his own situation and laughed at Rha's plight. Apparently he didn't think it was as funny anymore and attempted to take a swing at Haxx, only to stumble into him and both of them to fall down in it once more, splashing Sula as she approached.

"Both of you knock it off!" She demanded, wiping away globs of excrement from her uniform. "I need to clean his wound or it's going to get infected."

"Let it, maybe he'll learn to listen for once," Volx chided, only to be the next victim of their antics as their splashing about spattered her in the face. Already nearly up to her chest due to her short stature, her face was within uncomfortable contention of the surface.

"Uhh…Commander? You think someone should break them up?" Corr motioned, Haxx was back on his feet, but Volx was strangling him from behind as Rha seemed to be punching him in the spooch. Sula stood idle, waiting to deliver the necessary first aid to Haxx, and by the way things appeared, he might need more medical attention than initially. Everyone else seemed to be just standing idle, watching…except for Rem.

"Come on, Haxx, you smeet! Hit him back!" She cheered, throwing her fists about in the air as she said so, trying to entice him.

"…give them a few minutes, they'll tire out," Commander Vult smirked, despite having such a serious job, they managed to find time to goof around. "It's going to be awhile before any of us can rest, both mind and body."

"What do you mean, Sir?" Corr questioned, perplexed.

"What I mean, Corr…is that with the frequency and kind of action we're going to see here…it's going to make us wish we were back on Praxxus 7 during Impending Doom I."

Corr simply nodded as he swallowed nervously at the idea. Vult's sheer calmness and uttering of such a serious statement only further hit it home for him. Praxxus 7 was a nearly never-ending nightmare that continued to plague him in his dreams, and more than likely his friends and squadmates' as well. To even contemplate such a notion was possible was disturbing to say the least.

Sad truth of it was Vult couldn't have been any more correct than he was. He, the Shadow Strikers, and the entire Armada for that matter hadn't a clue to what awaited them. They were going to find out quickly that Vort belonged to the Vortian…and were going to give everything if need be to keep it so.


	14. The Predators Become the Prey

"Professor, Sir? May I say something?" Joker raised his hand.

"Ah, of course, I apologize for getting a little carried away there," Corr grinned, motioning, "proceed."

"With all due respect...it doesn't sound like you or your unit were put through anything all that trying or dangerous. I don't mean any disrespect, Sir, at all, but I have read about other Spec Ops units that have done missions far more dangerous than anything you have…if this holds true."

"Your right, we never did the most dangerous missions, but we by far did the most important…"the elder Irken trailed off, leaning back in his chair uncomfortably"…and most trying as well."

"What do you mean, Sir?" DZ picked up on his seemingly depressed tone.

"What I mean is that if not for us, Praxxus 7 would have been a bloodbath, if not for us, Vort would have stood strong. I know all of you are instructed in the ways of benefiting the greater good, teamwork, and sacrificing the individual for the whole…not all sacrifice is physical.

I still found it incredibly difficult to believe after Commander Vult said we all were going to wish we were back on Praxxus instead of going through the Vort campaign. After that living hell…I couldn't even begin to imagine something that was far more disturbing or trying than what we already had been through…needless to say, I was brought back to reality and reminded just what brutality could be inflicted by so-called sentient races of the universe. I've seen a lot of things in my time, Cadets…and my time on Vort was by far the most traumatizing."

"Sir…was it really necessary for us to use the sewers?" Haxx grimaced, turning up his boot as the slimy muck of Vortian excrement dribbled out. He managed to gag as he watched it land on the floor, remembering the taste of what managed to get in his mouth.

"Did you have a better plan of getting behind the Vortian frontline, Sergeant?" Volx snapped at him, still upset over the tussle from earlier. "There's only about 5 clicks filled solid with soldiers, mechs, vehicles, and Irk knows what else that stood in our way. What better way might you have suggested bypassing such an outpouring of resistance?" She seethed, almost ranting at him.

"Well…for one," he pointed to himself in a sophisticated manner as if he was superior, "I wouldn't wade through my enemy's dookie, and we could have taken the drop ship in and set it down somewhere, all nice and quiet like."

Rem appeared from the washroom of the apartment they were using as a position for the moment. Any residents within a few dozen clicks of the front line were evacuated to safety. For Vult and his team, however, meant they could operate without having to worry about civilians interfering or dealing with them in general. If this complex was still standing after the Irken forces came through and the residents allowed to return to their domiciles…whoever owned this one was going to be very upset.

Not only did they break the door down to gain entrance, tracking who knows what besides refuse all over the floors and on the furniture. Even mentioning the washroom was moot at this point at how much of a nightmare it looked at this point.

"No can do there, lightweight," Rem joked with him, regarding the outcome of their drinking contest, "I may be one of the best, but that ship's not invulnerable. We'd be blown out of the sky as soon as we'd get in range of their guns. They're dug in nice and tight, hoping to keep the Elite Guard at bay, maybe even catch that second miracle and turn them back."

"Why can't we just wait until they come in, smash through the line, and walk through the hole?"

Volx pinched the bridge between her eyes as Rem lost interest in trying to explain things to him, continuing to don her uniform.

"…the whole point of us coming behind enemy lines is to take out key critical military assets, weaken the line, and distract them. A million soldiers or not, they've got triple that easily holding strong."

"Haxx?" Vult spoke, garnering his attention from his seated position on the couch.

"Yeah, Commander?"

"Let me handle all of that," he jokingly stated, "just follow my orders and everything will be just fine."

The Heavy Weapons Sergeant merely nodded as he continued wiping his gear clean.

Vult looked over towards the washroom, the clamoring of Aero, Vard, Sula, and Corr still scrubbing their own respective uniforms and pieces of equipment.

"Come on, we don't have all day," the Commander commented without force, "we're already behind as it is. Just get most of it off so it doesn't affect the active camouflage if we need to use it."

"The smell is absolutely horrendous though," Aero complained, gasping in surprise, "Vard, watch it!"

"Sorry!" he frantically responded, followed by a clatter of him more than likely falling on the tiled floor.

Corr came out about that time, strapping his helmet on, assuring everything was in working order. Rha walked into the living area from the kitchen, his arm loaded full of snacks he raided and confiscated, taking a bite out of a Vort dog.

"What do you have there?" Haxx questioned, standing up. Despite still being filthy by usual standards, he was glad to be so clean once more.

"These horned buggers have some pretty tasty stuff," Rha answered, muffled through a mouth full of food as he tossed a package to Haxx, offering to the others. Corr waved his hand to turn it down, Rem grabbed a few from him, and Volx took one as well. He turned to Tuu, who was posted up in one of the windows, keeping an eye out for anything out of the norm with his rifle, scanning the area.

"Hey Tuu, you want some of this?"

"No, I'm good," he answered, his mind seeming to be elsewhere.

"Something out there?" Rha questioned, concerned.

"I don't see anything, but I have a feeling in my spooch…call it an instinct," he stated under his breath as he continued , "but someone's watching us, civilians, soldiers, I don't know…I just feel it."

"All the more reason why we need to get moving as soon as possible," Vult ushered, more or less out of necessity than panic. "Vard, Aero, out here on the double."

"Yes, Sir," Vard promptly responded, dashing out and sliding to a halt, weapon in hand as he went to attention. His belt was still unbuckled, allowing his pants to fall down around his ankles once more to leave him standing there in his undergarments. Aero casually walked out, trying to wrap her uniform around her chest to buckle it in place, not a care in the world as to who saw her.

Despite Sula aiding in helping her uniforms fit her changed physique, they were still rather snug without completely altering them beyond functionality. After struggling for a moment, it finally latched into place to provide the necessary protection.

"Vard…pull your pants up," Vult shook his head, the small Irken following his orders, securing them around his waist. "Everyone grab your kit, we're moving out, got a lot of ground to cover."

Tuu, however, still couldn't shake the feeling of them being watched. If it held true, then someone already had the advantage on them, and was only a matter of time before a trap was sprung. Sometimes…sometimes it paid incentives to be wrong. This happened to be one of those cases.

Perched in the upper floors of another building that towered over the area with a line of sight that stretched to the horizon, a Vortian sat there, peering intently through his sight assistance goggles, zoomed in on Tuu and the others. Another Vortian sat down beside him, missing several teeth and his mouth still swollen…precisely where Aero had delivered the impromptu blow with the wrench. He noticed then how intently the other was involved as he looked in the distance without a word.

"What do you see?" He questioned, situating himself once more as he picked his rifle up.

The other simply raised his right hand, pointing.

"It appears that ve have company," the other whispered as his comrade leaned forward, squinting through his goggles.

"Where, Rub'Akho, I don't see anything."

"About 2 and a half clicks, straight ahead," he rattled off as his hand returned, still watching, "that residential complex…12th floor, center vindow."

"…Irken scum…" the injured one of the two uttered under his breath as he began sighting up his rifle at the silhouette of Tuu in the distance, only to have Rub'Akho gently lower his rifle with the push of his left hand. "What are you doing, Rub? We have the element surprise, we can kill them without incident."

"Haste makes vaste," Rub'Akho stated, zoomed in on Tuu as well with his goggles, "first…ve vatch and vait."

"Why wait though? They're right there…between the two of us, we can drop all of 'em."

"No…I've been vatching for quite some time, there are at least 6…possibly 8 of them. Spec Ops soldiers, yet…I've never seen uniforms such as those."

"What about their uniforms? Wait a minute…"his comrade added, thrusting an accusing finger in their direction, "I've seen them before! Those are the ones that did this to me!" He motioned to his face and missing teeth, attempting to raising his rifle once more in anger and stopped by Rub once more.

"I said no," he ordered, hardening his stare somewhat, "attacking in hatred is the last thing you do. You must have a clear mind vhen you engage. Observe…nothing more."

"What are we looking for, Rub'Akho? I see…filth, the longer I look, the more I want to shoot them."

"The patient hunter always gets their prey, comrade," he uttered, his eyes fixated on Tuu over the rest of them, "strike vhen they are defenseless and cannot retaliate. Combined vith our superior accuracy and element of surprise…ve vill crush them vithout incident."

"It can't come sooner, my friend," the Vortian soldier responded, rubbing his mouth where he lost his teeth to one wrench blow to the face.

Tuu's rifle finally retracted from the window's opening, his silhouette dissipating as well.

"Come," Rub'Akho promptly stood up, grabbing his rifle as well, situating his dark blue and green uniform, assuring his backpack was strapped down. "Our prey is on the move, ve vill study them and give chase. Unseen and unheard are the perfect hunters, allow us to do so until the time is right, vhen they are at their veakest."

"When do we strike then?"

"Vhen the time is right, comrade, no sooner…no later," Rub'Akho calmly responded, strapping his rifle to his back, drumming claws on the handle of his sheathed blade. "You vill know vhen the time is right, I taught you all that I know, and determining that is second nature to you."

His mouth was covered by a matching zip-up cowl of his uniform, black fingerless gloves allowed his claws to protrude, very similarly to his leggings as his toes allowed for grip and maneuverability on the move. Rub'Akho's armament consisted of a long range plasma rifle that was considered out-of-date by current standards, still forcing the shooter to individually load each energy cartridge via bolt action from the magazine. He favored it over a semi-automatic weapon because of the reliability, simplicity, and overall accuracy, a marksman's most deadly tool. In addition to the rifle of a few generations prior, he possessed a slightly larger than usual vibroblade. The blade itself was wider than the standard issue, a bit longer as well, and had a single sharpened edge that angled to a point.

What escaped his sights was up close and personal. Both were equally lethal with the "Specter of Vengeance", the colorful term that the Irken had come to know him by. He was a paranormal entity to them, one that struck without warning and was nigh impossible to see or catch. The exact number of kills he is accredited with is unknown, but the stories ranged anywhere between 50 to 1,000 Irken slain alone by his steady aim, successful kills at extreme ranges, even with sight assistance and targeting software were impressive feats. The average marksman could drop enemy combatants at around 2 clicks, 2 and a half if they were talented. Rub, however, has made kills in excess of 4 clicks and is fabled to have put a bolt between an Irken Captain's eyes at 7 clicks…well over 14 miles. The truth of these matters was only known to the proprietor of them. The stores spun about his doings only added fuel to the fire and struck fear in the spooches of his enemy.

He kept to the shadows and out of sight as he gracefully ran atop the buildings, climbing, leaping, rolling, and performing other various acrobatic maneuvers to not lose his next target and remain a step ahead. Only problem was his protégé of sorts wasn't as lithe as himself. Rub'Akho came to a stop after leaping another gap turning around.

"Ve mustn't fall behind lest ve lose our prey," he commented as his understudy struggled to hall himself up over the edge that he had just traversed easily, gasping for breath.

"You…you…you're moving too fast for me…to…keep up," he answered, trying to regain control of his breathing.

"Stand strong on your own two feet," Rub'Akho responded coldly, turning around to look over his shoulder as he prepared to continue, "I vill not be your crutch, nor vill you slow me down. If you fall behind…stay behind."

Though chiding in nature, he knew it was Rub's way of encouraging him. The reasons for his overall personality and attitude were unknown, but even for a Vortian, he had never seen one of his own people have such an intense hatred for the Irken. They all were displeased with the Empire's decision to assault their homeworld, but to Rub'Akho…it appeared to be something far more personal than even that, a vendetta that he was going to fulfill…or die trying. That incentive didn't hold much merit when the life you had and cherished was already taken from you. The chosen profession of marksman in his people's army left him with free thought as he watched and waited.

Finally in position and ahead of his target, all he had to do was just that, wait. Rub'Akho possessed a sixth sense when it came to predicting movements, and his instincts told him the Shadow Strikers were going to move through the market square that he was overlooking just over a click away, a decorative fountain in the center of the plaza. Setting his rifle against the wall next to the window, he opened the flap of his other pocket, pulling out a worn photograph…the only memoir of a past life, the one that was wrongly taken from him little over a year prior…by the very same he wished and delivered damnation upon.

"…just like this, Papa?" the hornling, a young child of a male held the rifle that dwarfed him. Much to Rub's surprise however, he was holding it steady, proving his strength and innate abilities he inherited from his father.

"Perfect," the kneeling Rub smiled, pointing towards the target downrange, "now line up the front sight vith the rear like I told you, take aim, and gently squeeze the trigger," he added, giving and example in the air, "just the tip, don't wrap it around it."

"Okay, Papa," the child nodded, following his instructions. Rub just grew even more proud of his son as he heard him draw breath and hold it to take aim, just like a skilled marksman. The rifle fired, nearly toppling the hornling, his father catching him before he fell. To Rub's surprise, he was more excited than frightened from the response from the rifle.

"Did you see that, Papa? I did it!"

"Yes, Mur'Akho," he chuckled, pointing proudly downrange with a smile, "you're just like your father, right on target. Keep it up, my son, you vill surpass me one day."

"I can't do that, Papa, you're the best shot in the entire universe!"

"I vouldn't say that, but it is flattering," Rub smiled, patting Mur on the head gently as he took the rifle, his great-grandfather's old hunting rifle. "Go get your target to show your mother."

It was the very same rifle that he learned to fire at his son's age from his father, and so on. It wasn't the fastest firing weapon, but it was indeed one of the most accurate that Rub had ever laid his hands on. He watched his son bound gleefully towards the posted target, ejecting the spent energy cell from the chamber with a quick turn of the bolt action.

"Show me what?" A female voice beckoned, garnering his attention.

Her bright, blue eyes had natural iridescence to them, shimmering various shades of azure with the change of lighting. Unlike Rub's horns that simply came back and to a point off of his head, her's majestically curled down and forward, much like a ram's would. She was also considerably shorter than Rub by a few inches. Her visage shifted to curiosity to concern after she saw the rifle in Rub's hands.

"Rub'Akho…don't you think he is a little too young to be learning about how to use weapons?" She questioned, watching Mur bound up with the target flapping in the wind from his hand.

"Not at all," he respectfully answered, putting the safety on the weapon and shouldering the sling on it to carry, "vhen I vas his age, I learned from my father, as did he from my grandfather. Ve are a clan of hunters, it's in our blood , Ora. It is only destiny that he knows of his heritage as did I."

"...He's only 9 cycles of age, Rub'Akho, I think he can wai-"

"Mama! Mama! Look what I did! I'm a natural, just like Papa!" He hopped up and down, waving the target around for her to look at. Quizzingly, her eyes looked back and forth between Mur's excitement and Rub simply shrugging his shoulders with a smirk.

"That's…impressive, dear," she commented, noticing the accuracy of the shot that pierced the target. "Why don't you run inside and get washed up, dinner will be ready soon."

With a hug, he ran inside to do so, still pleased with his accomplishment.

"See, Ora? Nothing to vorry about. I instructed him in the vays of safety before I even put the rifle in his hands." He offered, coming to his mate's side, putting his arms around her.

She merely smiled as he did so, finally turning to look into his own eyes.

"Well…as long as you're there watching him. Last thing I need is for our son to seriously maim himself…or worse."

"I assure you nothing of the sort vill happen," he laughed, nuzzling his forehead against hers with a sigh. "The guiding light in my life, I don't know vhat I'd do vithout you, Ora." Rub finished in a consoling tone.

"Yes, what would you do?" Ora commented with a laugh, embracing Rub in a kiss. The hornling returned from the back door of the domicile.

"Mama, when's dinner going to be rea-EEEWWW, gross!" Mur's voice interrupted them. The two of them would agree on one thing that their child was far too young to understand and comprehend love and its various aspects.

The parents simply found it cute and amusing as they broke contact, walking towards their humble abode. Rub lifted his son free of the ground and on his shoulders in one fluid motion, Mur squealing with joy as he was brought up in the air off his feet to be seated.

"Let's see vhat your mother has prepared for you to grow up big and strong."

"I'm going to grow up and be just like you, Papa!"

Ora couldn't help but laugh at the bond shared by father and son.

The 'Akho family entered their humble home via the back door, placing the archaic rifle in the living room above the mantle as decoration and display.

"How vas vork today?" Rub asked of his mate as they took their places at the table, Ora setting the meal she prepared in the center, a stew of some sort by the way things appeared.

"The usual advanced physics and biomedical research like always," she answered, ladling Mur and Rub's bowls. "It's not really work when you enjoy what you're doing and others benefiting from my findings."

"It's amazing that you do all of that, then come home and do this," Rub commented, motioning to the table, "I knew I had chosen the right one vhen I saw you." He jested with a smile.

"Well, if my son is going to learn to defend himself…it is in good interest he learns from the best."

"My father prepared me for vhatever life could throw at me, Ora, the Civil Defensive Force merely sharpened those skills." Commented Rub modestly, placing a spoonful of his mate's excellent cooking in his mouth. "There are no longer any untamed vildernesses on Vort, nor suitable game to be hunted. The next best thing to bring honor to my clan is to serve our people valiantly, as I hope my own flesh and blood vill do one day."

"I'm going to be a soldier just like you, no doubt about it, Papa."

"I wasn't thrilled about you joining the CDF to begin with, but it was your decision and I understand wanting to continue your traditions," Ora pointed out, smiling at him across the table, "but when I assumed your clan name and officially became an Akho, I said I was going to stay by your side through everything, for better or worse. I plan on doing so for many, many years to come. Speaking of that, Rub, how much longer do you have in your term of service?"

"Vell…if I don't sign up for another tour, end of this cycle if I'm not mistaken, vhy do you ask?"

"Well...how does taking an extended vacation to Paradosio sound?"

"Paradosio?"

"We've talked about it before," she mentioned, not surprised that he forgot and let it slide, "the paradise planet. It is populated by hundreds of resorts, nearly endless beaches, and absolutely the closest thing to perfection in the universe. It is part of the Irken Empire, but I heard it is just gorgeous, so much so their leaders are said to spend time there from time-to-time. It would be good for all of us to go. I need a break from work, you're about to have a lot of free time after being discharged, and Mur is of age to come along."

"Really, Mama? I can go with you and Papa in space? To another planet?" The child excitedly questioned.

"Yes, dear…that is if your father agrees, it is entirely up to him," Ora answered her son, turning to Rub to respect his decision.

"Sounds great and all, Ora, but vhat about money? It sounds rather expensive, the shuttle there, our stay and activities…do ve have it to spare? I thought ve agreed on buying a better home…and a better life."

"I've been putting every bit extra that we have back for it, I almost have enough to cover everything, so by the time you're discharged, we will have plenty. The house will come, we can make it work, Rub, we are 'Akho after all." She smirked, playing to his pride quite well.

Rub leaned back for a moment, contemplating the idea.

"Come on, Papa, I want to go into space and fly around the stars!"

He smiled, rustling the top of his son's head.

"I suppose it's settled then," Rub announced with a smile, "once my service is up…ve'll go to Paridosio."

Rub'Akho was startled as a figure was tapping him on the shoulder, instantly bringing him back to reality. Drawing his blade, he slammed the figure into the wall, resting the blade against his throat.

"Easy, Rub, it's me," his companion assured, frightened at the gleaming blade pressed to his skin, swallowing. "I tried getting your attention, you were out of it."

He let the other Vortian back down on his feet, backing away from him

"Regardless, don't sneak up on me," he warned, sheathing the blade once more, the would-be victim breathing a sigh of relief, "I see you managed to keep up vith me."

"I learned from the best," he smirked after the ordeal, finding a seat next to him, overlooking the plaza. "You think they're going to be here?"

"I know they vill."

"How can you be so sure? There are countless possibilities they could seek out other than coming through this area."

"To track your prey, you must think like them," Rub'Akho advised, keeping a keen eye out, "they vere Spec Ops, quite different from any I've ever seen, but Spec Ops nonetheless. If I vas their squad leader, being this far behind enemy lines, I'd try to put as much distance between them and myself. Vhatever their objective is, it matters not, but I know they vill come through. Ve'll put a stop to that, now won't ve?"

"Whatever you say, Rub," he commented, picking something up off of the floor, "you dropped this right before you nearly slit my throat." He added with a lack of amusement, holding the photograph up.

Not so much as a snatch, but Rub promptly took it from him, returning it to his front chest pocket, over his heart.

"Your family? I don't have my own, well, not yet anyway, I do have siblings, all brothers of mine," he explained, hoping to strike conversation with the usually silent Rub, "…of four children, only I remain."

"…Vhat happened to them?"

"We were all stationed on Praxxus 7, the Irken attacked, two fell the first time, and the third the second time. I don't even know if it was luck that I escaped such a fate, only to watch the very same take place in our city streets. I can't even imagine what my parents are feeling…if they're still alive." The novice of the two trailed off sadly, looking down at the floor.

Rub had known this soldier until the second Praxxus incident a couple weeks prior, yet knew nothing about him. This newly-revealed information found a way to his heart, uncomfortably close to home that another had experienced the loss of a loved one.

"…yes, my mate and child," the masterful sniper finally informed with a depressed sigh, "…my life…stolen from me." Rub finished, clenching his fists in frustration. He slowly lifted his head once more to focus on the task at hand, running an open claw over his head. "I'll never forget that day, a painful reminder and fuel to my flames of vengeance that vill not be extinguished, not until retribution is paid in full. Innocent blood, Vortian blood…my blood, is on their hands. I await the day that ve can take the fight to their world, comrade, to their people. I vill personally see to it that they bleed on their lands and deliver the righteous punishment that they all deserve until the fields run emerald vith their blood."

"When, not if it comes, Rub, but when it does…I'll be right there by your side, just as I am now." He supported, gently laying a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.

Rub nodded in agreement, thankful that he had his cowl up to not allow him to see the smile, something he hadn't done for a long time, beneath. The camaraderie was broken as Rub'Akho's attention quickly focused once more, sifting through the various settings on his goggles. Something didn't feel right, partially due to his experiences and his innate senses, so it would seem

"So how'd it ha-" he attempted, only to be cut off by Rub cutting an open hand through the air to be silent, motioning to the empty street hundreds of feet below.

"Switch to EM, look across the street, right…there," he pointed to the pillars of a building front that jutted from the walkway. "Just as I expected…"

Sure enough, no sooner than the goggles adjusted, 8 white-hot, fuzzy blurs in the shape of Irken soldiers were in view, moving cautiously down the walkway, using anything and everything for cover. Switching back and forth between his normal and Electromagnetic view, he saw that they were cloaked and invisible to the unaided eye. He was at a loss for words at how Rub was able to be so precise and pinpoint exactly where they were going to be.

"Radio for any Vortian forces in the area," Rub ordered in a whisper, "tell them to standby and await my signal to attack from these coordinates," he continued, locking and sending a pair of waypoints across the plaza just out of view.

The veteran sniper of the two picked up his rifle, gently resting it upon its built-in bipod as he placed it in the windowsill, looking through a crack in the drapes that fluttered gently in the wind. His goggles zoomed into focus on the shapes, slowly scanning across them for a better look.

As strange as the uniforms were, they were the enemy regardless, and will be dealt with as such. Rub'Akho gently slid the safety into the firing position, resting his fingertip on the trigger…just as he had been taught by his father, and how he had taught his son. The sharpened mind of the 'Akho clan and hunting abilities carried on through the times and was going to be proven positive once more on the battlefield.

"Three squads and an APC crawler are responding, Rub," he whispered after ending his radio conversation. "Orders?"

"Tell them to hold and open fire only on my signal," he uttered, squinting his left eye as he begun to take aim with the right, the crosshairs adjusting and zooming into place on his first target. "Now, comrade…the hunt truly begins."

Meanwhile, the unit maneuvered streetside, sticking to the shadows in the afternoon sunlight as they pressed forward, on the move since early morning. Though pushing their limits, it wasn't anything the Shadow Strikers couldn't handle, nor had not prepared for through meticulous conditioning and training.

"We're making good time, keep up the pace," Vult's hushed voice uttered over the comm. link, a hand signal to press forward following, "we should be at the objective by sundown at this rate."

"What's the matter, Tuu?" Haxx commented in a taunt, watching the Irken sniper's eyes dart about with his rifle at the ready. "You scared of a few Vortians?"

"We're several clicks behind enemy lines in their controlled territory, in the open for Irk knows what else to come down on us without warning, so yes, Haxx, I am just a little, more nervous than anything."

"Sergeant, shut your mouth and stay alert," Corr ordered harshly into his headset through the radio, a quick turn of the head to lock eyes with him. Even at a distance and behind a black visor, he could feel the Captain's eyes burning into him. "Latrine duty will be the last thing you'll have to worry about if you compromise us in any way."

"Understood, Sir," he shrunk back, sighing as he adjusted the plasma repeater draped across his shoulders to bear the weight on the move more efficiently.

Rub'Akho's sights rested just in front of Haxx's head, ready to put a high-caliber plasma bolt through the Irken's head with the squeeze of a trigger. He held the Sergeant's life in his hands.

"Seriously, Haxx," Rha added, "if I get shot or something because of your screw-up, I'm going to be more than upset."

"Oh yeah?" He responded with a laugh, walking backwards to face the Corporal, "what are you going to do abo-" was all that he managed before catching the back of his foot on the curb, falling down….just as a bolt of white-hot plasma splashed against the wall where his head once was, followed by the echoing crack of a rifle. The mortar of the stone façade cracked and bubbled as molten slag poured out of the fresh potch mark where the narrowly-missed round, mainly by dumb luck, had struck. They instantly went into survival mode and trusted their instincts more than anything once the sound of the shot reached their antenna.

"Sniper!!!" Rha yelled, grabbing his comrade on the ground by the collar to lift him to his feet quickly as he broke into a run for cover.

Vult thought on his feet, attempting to find suitable cover while still having offensive capabilities. The decorative fountain had sculpted figures around its perimeter and a high stone wall to offer ample protection from sniper fire. "In the fountain, move!"

The ten Shadow Strikers sprinted for the structure, all leaping and sliding over the edge, one after another, into the placid, shallow pool of liquid with splashes. It was very similar to water and held aquatic properties, but was more gelatinous in nature. The substance was tacky and stuck to their uniforms. Regardless of the cloaking, it rendered it useless, and automatically powered it down to conserve energy. Their black and red uniforms stood out clearly against the granite

"Tuu, take him down," the Commander ordered, looking around for his sniper, only to find him dashing inside the buildings they were just moving in front of for cover. "…Tuu! Sergeant, get back here!" He yelled, keeping behind one of the figurehead decorations around the fountain. "_Murata vodeta_…anyone hit, everyone good?" Vult returned to the 9 present, looking all of them over for any injuries.

"You had to open your _ikveda _mouth, didn't you?" Rha incredulously questioned, shoving him in the shoulder with a growl of resentment.

"Me? It was Tuu's fault being scared of a bunch of horned freaks!"

"Quiet, both of you," Corr demanded to keep order before they lost control of that in this situation. "Keep your heads down, Vard, get Tuu back here on the double, see if we have any friendlies in the area."

"Yes, Captain," He obeyed with a nod, staying calm as he began using the long-range array, the Shadow Striker sniper out of range for short-wave communications.

"Orders, Sir?" Aero beckoned to Vult, finally catching her breath from the dash to safety.

"Just hold tight until we get a fix on that sniper's locate-"

"Commander, hostiles incoming!" Corr announced, standing up just enough to level his rifle over the edge at the incoming Vort forces across the plaza, easily between 20 or 25 soldiers on foot, reinforced with a Vortian APC.

"Hold fire, don't compromise our position!" Vult ordered, remaining steadfast in command, despite his options…and chances of survival dwindling fast. It was then it donned on him, and was more than aggravated at himself than embarrassed for being so careless. Everyday was a gamble with life, but they had always seemed to stack the deck in their favor, this time, however…this time they were dealt a losing hand.

Vult walked them right into a trap without even realizing it.

"_Sornoto_!" Rub cursed through grit teeth at the missed shot, quickly actuating the bolt action of the rifle to load a fresh round into the rifle. "…not again." He promised to himself, targeting the only Irken he had a shot on, a rather short one with the comm. array attached to his back and antenna jutting from his helmet.

"I von't miss this time…" he trailed off, the sight manually hovering around his head and chest. At little over a click, it was an insult for him to use aim assistance for such an easy distance for a skilled marksman. The Specter of Vengence slowly applied pressure to the trigger once more, "_Unloto vor Vortoten Moydo Akho…_" he uttered, translated roughly as:

"In the name of my people and honor of my clan…"

The rifle fired once more, staying true.


	15. Actions Give Unto Consequences

"Tuu, get your _c'hurta _back here, now!" Vult's voice screamed over the comm. channel. His commanding officer's voice was cut off as he closed the squad channel. On a mission and determined to protect his fellow squadmates, he placed that above even disregarding orders. Just from that single shot that narrowly missed Haxx, he knew exactly what they were dealing with.

A master marksman with an unobstructed line of sight and angle that put all of them in grave danger, if not for Haxx's own stupidity, he would have had his brains splattered all over the wall. Trifling with such a polished level of skill would be a costly and more than likely deadly mistake on their behalf.

"Sorry, Commander," he thought to himself in apology for ignoring Vult as he jogged down the narrow corridor several stories above the plaza, his attention immediately grabbed as the crack of the enemy combatant's rifle sounded again through the still air, promptly followed by a maelstrom of various plasma weapons opening fire. The chattering weapons belonged not to the Irken, but were synonymous to the standard issue kit that Vortian regulars used. Yet another issue to further compound their problems.

That heard, but unseen shot found its intended target.

Vard.

The plasma bolt shredded through his helmet, shearing the lower half of it off on the right side through the headphone piece that was part of the comm. array, sending molten shrapnel spraying and him twirling from the force of the impact into the fluid with a splash, unmoving. Aero loaded a fresh power cell into her rifle, seeing him laying face down. Her first thoughts weren't the most pleasant at the extent of the damage done.

"VARD!!!" Aero exclaimed as she attempted reach out for his collar, only to have Vult latch onto her own, stopping her short.

"You crazy, Aero?" He commented over the fray that felt as if the entire Vortian army was coming down on them all around. "Stay in cover or you'll get dropped next! Sula, check him!" Vult added, pointing to him.

"She'll get slotted just like he did, Sir!"

"It's a risk, but I'm banking on this guy's standards."

"Yes, Sir," Sula responded without question, setting her weapon down as she slid to a kneeling position beside Vard, out in the open.

Hesitant at rolling him over, she feared to find him no longer amongst them with a round clean through his head. Mustering the courage to do so and dedication to her duty, she did so…more than relieved at that as she breathed a sigh of relief.

Though his helmet was completely destroyed on the his right side, the bolt narrowly missed his actual head and left a grazing burn of charred flesh and shrapnel stuck in his face. Following her usual routine, she plugged into his PAK and began scanning vitals just to be sure.

"What's his status, M.O.?" Vult questioned as he squeezed off rounds at the assaulting Vortian forces across the plaza, a dead-man's land of nothingness with about 500 meters or so separating the factions embroiled in combat. Compassion was void in his voice due to the stress they were placed under at the moment, but the last thing he, nor any of them wanted, was to lose someone. Not only would it have been devastating to morale and the loss of a friend in a closely-knit unit, but dead weight to be hauled out. Shadow Strikers weren't like the Armada, they weren't about to leave anyone behind, no matter what. If need be, Vult would carry him out on his own back…he, as well as the entire unit, hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

"Vitals check out, Sir!" She exclaimed back with a hint or relief, ducking as rounds whizzed over her head, the fray growing more and more intense with each passing second, "he's unconscious, but stable!"

"Rub, take her out! You have a clean shot."

"No, comrade," he uttered as he watched through his sight as Sula was solely focused on Vard and went about her medical duties. "Irken or not, she is villingly putting herself into my sights to aid her squadmate, of vhich is commendable to say the least. I'll do the same and allow her to do so. Ve are in control, my friend, there is nothing to worry about." Rub'Akho assured, taking aim once more, "as I have taught you, awaiting the right moment to strike is very crucial. They are now pinned down by our allies and haven't a clue vhere ve are…a perfect combination for the hunt."

"Pull him into cover, see if you can bring him to!" The Irken Commander continued, attempting to keep a level head of the situation, but it was dwindling fast. "I need all our guns up and on those Vorts, now!"

She obeyed, hefting the smaller Irken out of Rub'Akho's view and behind the center of the fountain to where she was at.

"Captain, what are we looking at out there?"

"Unconfirmed, but between 4 to 6 squads of Vortian regulars and an armored vehicle, possibly and APC," Corr informed, ducking back in just as several plasma bolts peppered the area he was in the open at, "armed to the teeth and have the advantage, Sir."

"Advantage?!" Haxx exclaimed, loading another power cell into his plasma repeater, "try deathtrap! Pinned by sniper fire, can't advance or move to a better position because-" he was interrupted as part of the edge of the fountain was chipped away by a narrowly close shot, "…because of them, and there's a _ikveda _tank out there to top it off! We are so sc-"

"Haxx, shut your mouth and pull yourself together!" Vult sternly ordered, though not his intentions, the last thing he needed was their resolve to be lost. At this point…it was all that was holding them together. "Keep your heads down and mind clear! This isn't anything we haven't prepared for! We all knew things like this stood a good chance of happening, it's in our job description, it's what separates us from the regulars…it's what makes us the best!"

The unit was silent, save for the sounds of battle that was inching closer and closer by the passing second as the Vortians advanced.

"That's better," the Irken Commander nodded, turning to Corr, "How tough is that APC, Captain?"

It was risky, but they didn't have any other options.

"Looks lightly armored to me, Sir," he commented, seeing Vult beginning to hatch a plan on how to get them out of this mess. "Just a thin-skinned box with a turret on it pretty much, a single anti-armor round would take care of it no problem."

He nodded, clasping Aero's shoulder to get her attention.

"Think you can do a quick weapon mod on Haxx's repeater?"

"My forte is vehicles, Sir…but I can try," she nodded, knowing that other than Vard, whom was out of commission for the moment, she was the only one capable of doing such work. "What do you want me to do?"

"Boost the output, crank it up as high as it will go without blowing it apart. We don't have anything ranged that will punch a hole in it, and I'm not about to send any of you out there to try to take it out, so we'll improvise."

Aero dove to the other side of the fountain to avoid getting picked off, fishing around in Vard's belt for the precision tools she needed since all she had were larger ones and power tools for "breaking" enemy vehicles, as she professionally put from time-to-time.

"Rha, Rem," Vult pointed to each, motioning towards Aero, "get over there and provide support while Haxx's weapon is down. Be quick about it, Aero, the longer he's down, our chances of survival diminish…fast."

Without a word, the pair of Shadow Strikers put themselves against the edge of the fountain to the left of Haxx, waiting for him to finish off his last volley of suppressing fire. The repeater had a distinct, fast-paced chatter that the Vorts would instantly pick up on as soon as it ceased firing and make their move. Vult was banking on it.

The actuator locked forward with the last expended round from the power cell, Haxx ducking back into cover, more or less falling and sliding down the edge of the fountain with his back to it, his pair of squadmates instantly taking his place and cutting loose with their plasma rifles.

"Reloading!" He exclaimed as he jettisoned the spent power cell, reaching for another drum-shaped magazine, only to have his weapon jerked away from him by the taller female Irken. "Aero, what the Irk are you doing?! I need that!"

"Shut up and hold on a sec," she responded, popping the small access hatch on the receiver with a fastener driver, tweaking the series of knobs and maneuvering wires to different connection points. Her articulate fingers masterfully moved over the exposed panel, concentration necessary with the delicate components as time was also of the essence. The longer Haxx's repeater was down, the more opportunity the assaulting Vortians had to advance closer to their position.

"Anytime today, Aero, no pressure," Haxx pressed, "no pressure at a-" a round skimmed his antenna. Luckily enough it was protected by the flexible armor that covered them from the helmet, but the heat was unbearable as he clutched at it, lowering his head so they didn't protrude over the edge. "Will you hurry up!?"

Something bounced off the top of his helmet with a fright at the impact, far too uniform in size and weight to simply be crumbling rubble. The object in questioned rolled to a stop just in front of Aero as she was working on the repeater, looking up at the movement she caught in her peripheral vision. Not surprised at this point, it was the absolute last thing any of them needed at this point.

A live Vortian fragmentation grenade.

"GRENADE!" Aero screamed out of reaction, quickly reaching for the circular object in hope of disposing of it long before it detonated and easily killed all of them in one fail swoop. With a textbook throw, the device arced through the air, bounding along the ground a few times before rolling to a stop just in front of a trio of advancing Vortians sprinting for cover to close in on the pinned Irken soldiers. The timing couldn't have been anymore perfect, regardless of a one and a million shot.

The grenade exploded with a deafening shockwave of shrapnel and debris, mainly shattered brick and tile from the plaza below it…as well as the three Vortians caught in the blast. Two of them may have been far enough away to be spared from the explosion, but razor-sharp shrapnel made sure they were out of commission as they lay on the ground with grievous wounds. The third, however, wasn't so lucky. Aero watched in grim fashion as the maelstrom ripped through his body, engulfing it as it was torn asunder and sent askew. What wasn't solid tissue was either a fine violet mist or incinerated in the blinding heat. Haxx happened to be an unlucky one in that regard as a good sized chuck of the Vortian's flesh hit him right in the visor, splatting disgustingly against it to leave a greasy, gooey violet splotch to run down and drip.

"That's just…lovely!" He frustratingly wiped at it after realizing what it was. After ridding himself of the bloody flesh, he whipped around at Aero, "you done with my gun yet or what? I need it to shoot these guys so that doesn't happen again unless you like playing hot potato with live ordinance."

"Haxx, for the last time, shut your _ikveda_ mouth before I shove this up your _c'hurta_!" Aero forcefully informed as she stared daggers at him from behind her visor, causing the Heavy Weapons Sergeant to straighten up in silence.

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded in fear at her voice. The size advantage over him only made her that much more imposing when upset.

"Nice toss, Aero" Rha congratulated with a smirk beneath his mask, quickly returning back to keeping the opposing Vorts at bay.

"How much longer, Sergeant?" Vult requested, knowing their window of opportunity was slowly dwindling. The longer it took to take the Vortians out, the more time they had to call in reinforcements. Even then, the Irken Commander wasn't sure how far they were going to get before running into more resistance at this rate.

"Just…about…finished, Commander," she informed, promptly slamming the access hatch back on, tossing the weapon to Haxx, which was a feat all in its own regard considering how heavy the repeater was. "Done."

"Just in time," He commented, turning to Haxx, "knock'em down, Sergeant!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," Haxx replied as he slammed the fresh power cell home, the weapon emitting a high-pitched whine as it charged up once more.

The Heavy Weapons Sergeant stood up, even hopping up on edge of the fountain without regard for his own safety. Depressing the trigger, the trio of barrels began spooling up, ready to beat out a rhythm of destruction.

"Suck on this, _vodeto_!" He exclaimed with a bit of a maniacal laugh, unleashing a hell storm of super-charged plasma from the repeater. The sacrificed rate of fire was a willing one for the kind of damage output that it was capable of now. Without a care nor hesitation, Haxx pulled the weapon laterally from left to right in a sweeping motion, mowing Vortian soldiers down where they stood, then finally coming to the APC crawler. The rounds made quick work of the armor plating, punching large holes through it with ease, much like a hot knife through butter. His weapons malfunction warning signal went off while firing, a flashing red gun symbol on his visor, accompanied by an alarm, but he seemed too occupied with slotting everything in sight. It didn't take a warning light for Aero to see what was happening.

"Haxx, lay off of the trigger before it-" she managed before the weapon in his hands exploded in a bright flash from the stress, rocketing Haxx backwards from the blast into the fountain once more, managing to knock Rha and Volx down in the process. "…overloads…you alright?"

Despite his uniform smoldering and shards of shrapnel jutting from it, he seemed to be unscathed. "I'm fine…I think." He commented, "not bleeding anyway, so I suppose that's good."

"That seemed to do the trick, Commander," Corr commented as he surveyed the scene. Save for a few Vortians stirring on the ground in seething pain from inflicted wounds, they were all dead. The APC was a smoldering husk rifled with dozens of holes from Haxx's work.

"Don't get comfortable yet," Vult warned, keeping a sharp eye out, "we still have a sniper to locate and deal with, not to mention the good possibility things are going to get busy fast if they called any friends for help."

The short Lieutenant, however, was more than displeased with Haxx knocking her down and out of cover.

"Haxx, you dolt, you could have killed us!" Volx screamed, climbing to her feet once more, thrusting an accusatory finger at him. "Watch what the Irk you're doing!"

"Killed? I just saved our _c'hurtas_!"

"You overloading your weapon like that, you idiot!" She growled, pointing to the remnants of the repeater sifting around in the liquid at their feet. "One of these days, you sheer disregard is going to come back to bite you. I swear to Irk that if your antics get me wounded or anything happens to me, Haxx, you will regre-"

Rub'Akho was still in position and made it more than evident that they weren't going anywhere as another round ripped through Volx's right thigh, entering from behind and exiting out the front. Cauterized or not, it was still quite painful and instantly dropped her to the ground in blinding discomfort, complete with the screaming.

"You vill suffer for killing my comrades," he said to himself after watching his deed happen through the focused lens.

"Everyone in cover, now!" Vult ordered, Haxx grabbing Volx by her by her right ankle, not helping her plight at all as he drug her by it with a quick jerk.

"Ow! OW! OW!! Stop it, Volx!" He ordered as she was literally punching him with all the strength she could muster in his arm. The metal gauntlets weren't exactly easy on the flesh. "Sula- OW! Volx is down!"

"What gave it away, the shrill screams of agony?" Sula chided as she finished up with Vard.

"LET GO OF MY LEG!!!" she screamed, hitting at his hand and forearm, retracting in pain even more from attempting effort to do so.

"Oh…sorry," Haxx sheepishly replied, Sula cautiously coming over to survey the damage done.

"Sir, we have got to uproot or take that sniper out, at least long enough for us to move to a better position," Corr stated the painfully obvious, trying to remain logical in thought to avoid losing control. "The longer we're here, the more chances he has to pick us off and for reinforcements to show up."

"Tell me something I don't already know, Corr," Vult nearly seethed, but knew the Captain was simply trying to keep morale up and everything under control, "That last shot came from the west, the angle means probably about mid-range floors of those structures over there."

"The impact and delay of the shot, I'd estimate about 1 to 2 clicks away, Sir," Corr added, getting a nod in agreement from his superior. Though Commander Vult yelled for him to get back with the rest of the unit, Corr didn't hear over the fray and the excitement scrambling for cover from the sniper's view. "Where's Sergeant Tuu?"

"He ran into that building behind us," Vult thumbed while keeping his head down, Corr poking his head up just enough to look, quickly ducking back in as a shower of crumbling brick and concrete sprayed from a narrowly missed shot. If the façade of the fountain hadn't been where it was, that would have killed him. "If anyone is going to get this guy off of us, it's going to be him. If not…looks like we're playing the waiting game."

Between Vard being unconscious, Volx out of commission, Haxx without a weapon other than his sidearm, and Tuu's whereabouts unknown, if another force of that size assaulted once more, they would be calling this fountain home…and their grave.

"You're good, I'll give you that much," Tuu thought to himself from his makeshift position on the upper floors, scanning the buildings across the plaza for any signs of activity, "but you're about to meet your match."

The window was cracked open just enough for him to fire through without letting in unnecessary light to give away his position. Just as he had gained access the empty domicile, he pushed the dining table up next to the wall to use as a stable rest to put his rifle on, sitting at a chair for an inhibited, solid shooting platform. His sights were as steady as physically possible in such a scenario. With a slow maneuvering of the rifle, he zoomed in and focused on the fountain to visually check the condition of his squadmates. Just from that alone, he could see that Sula had her hands full with Volx and was unsure of Vard's condition. Everyone's vitals on his visor checked out though, so that could be taken as a blessing in such a situation.

"Just hang tight a little longer, guys," the Irken Marksman ran through his mind, his sights drifting back over to the buildings in question, zooming into focus as he began the tedious process of searching every single window for any abnormality. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an eternity. For every one that was spent was another wasted…and another closer to possible demise. Things had been rather rudimentary thus far in their careers as the Irken Empire's most secretive sect of Spec Ops soldiers, but this…this was different. To the Irken, it was simply a conquest in-progress and only a matter of time before victory was achieved.

To the Vortians, however…it was their very survival. Their home, their planet, everything they held dear was threatened by the imperial war machine. Just from the small-scale display he had witnessed thus far, Tuu could already tell that things were only going to get worse as they dealt with insurmountable odds and an enemy that was willing to fight to the very end to defend what they held by right and the Irken sought to take what did not belong to them.

With controlled breathing and a clear mind, Sergeant Tuu stopped on a window, much like the others around it, it was drenched in darkness…until he saw a muzzle flash, quickly followed by the echoing shot as the sniper fired on his pinned squadmates once more in the fountain. The brief, yet bright flash illuminated the room, silhouetting not one, but two Vortian soldiers.

His scope calculated the necessary data for a precise shot, adjusting for Vort's gravitational field, humidity, the distance between them, and even the windage. The trio of red sights triangulated, then sped to the center of the scope, signaling it was sighted in and was ready for use. Tuu's trigger finger slid the locking safety lever to "Fire", then placed the tip of his claw at rest against it. The Irken Sniper held his breath to ensure a steady and clean pull would be made, setting the sight on the location of the first Vortian he managed to see and was positive he could hit.

A very minute, but textbook pull of the trigger fired a deafening shot with considerably recoil, Tuu remaining glued to the scope in order to witness the impact.

Rub'Akho chambered another round, becoming frustrated with himself.

"As skilled as these soldiers are," he managed through grit teeth, "even I shouldn't be so off-target. By mere inches, they are escaping death. By mere inches, I'm allowing them to live."

"Just calm down and stead your aim, Ru-" his comrade managed before a bolt of blue-white plasma shattered the window and found its way to its target.

Just as the Vortian turned his head, the bolt skimmed across the bridge between his eyes, into the dominant right, and out the temple in gruesome fashion. Though alive by mere millimeters, he fell to the ground, writing in agony as he clutched at the gaping wound. The smell of charred flesh and ozone mixed in macabre fashion and hung in the air heavily.

Rub'Akho instinctively slid down out of view, setting his rifle off to the side as he crawled over to his fallen friend and apprentice.

His flailing and screams of agony didn't do much to keep them concealed, Rub making the attempt to pry his claws away from the wound and get him to calm down.

"Stop," he forcefully stated, finally managing to pin his hands to the floor with his own, "fight the pain, you must be quiet. Ve cannot afford to make a sound," Rub finished, procuring a rolled-up strap of leather from his belt pouch. "bite into this and come, ve must go. It will help vith the pain…trust me."

He did so, clamping down on the strap with his teeth, biting into it as hard as he possibly could in hope of subverting the agony even a little. Surprising enough, it was actually doing just that.

"Vell played, Irken," Rub'Akho thought as he gathered his rifle, leading the half-blind Vortian in his company as they began relocating. "you've von this round. The smart hunter alvays lives to hunt another day and you clearly have the advantage. I von't underestimate your might next time, Irken, mark my vords…"

"He got him," Vult smirked after hearing the distinct crack of Tuu's rifle.

Sighs of relief went around, Haxx beginning to stand up from cover only to be jerked back down by Rha on his behind.

"That doesn't mean we're in the clear yet, you _murata_," Rha scathed.

"If Tuu was the one that took the shot, he's as dead as dead can be. I've never seen him miss yet," Haxx responded, shrugging his hand off. "You worry too much."

It seemed Haxx was going for a record at how many of them he could aggravate to the point of violence with his nonchalance and sheer lack of regard for his surroundings or those in his presence.

"He's right," Vult nodded, the stern look he gave Haxx swayed him to agree, "everyone just hold tight for a couple more minutes just to make sure, we need to regroup with Sergeant Tuu before we do anything. Sula, how's our wounded?"

"Vard's alive and fine other than the grazing wound, his helmet's busted, and possible signs of a minor concussion," she rattled off as she continued working on Volx's thigh, "and there isn't much else I can do here, Commander, a clean entry/exit wound through the thigh, shattered femur. There's too much damage for me to set it."

"So what do you suggest then?"

"Since there's no way she's going to be walking on it in its current state…" Sula trailed off, wrapping layers of tape around it to hold the gauze in place, assuring it was snug enough to keep any foreign debris from getting in it, "…someone's going to have to carry her. Until Vard comes to again, Aero's handling it."

"Any volunteers?" Vult looked around those present. "Someone raise their hand or I'll pick for you."

"I'll do it, Sir," Haxx jutted his hand up, much to everyone's surprise.

"No way, Commander," Volx protested instantly, even in her own dilemma, "its HIS fault to begin with why I got sho-AAHH! Easy, Medial Officer!" she yelped in pain from Sula tightening the bandages.

"Exactly," Haxx pointed out, sighing as he tried to find the words, "look…I'm sorry, okay? Does it justify what happened? No, of course not, but I can't offer anything else in my position but an attempt to make up for it. Besides, I don't have a weapon now other than my pistol, so I wouldn't be much help anyway."

"Well…he does have a point," Corr pointed out.

"I'm glad that you value your weapons over my life, Sergeant," Volx seethed through narrowed eyes.

"We don't' have time for this," Commander Vult stated, pointing to Volx, "Haxx, I don't care how you do it, just pick her up and let's go. You'll trade off every so often to keep anyone from getting exhausted. If were to make up lost time, we've got to be within striking distance of the objective by sundown, that gives us about…14 hours to cover nearly 20 kilometers."

That was more easily said than done, especially after already logging in a full day's worth of movement and a rather large-scale firefight. Conditioning and sharpened skills through training only did so much to stave off the soldier's worst enemies: fatigue, hunger, and exhaustion.

Those three enemies along is what produced the mistakes that cost lives.

"Come on, Volx," Haxx knelt down with his back facing her, holding his arms out to his sides, "let's go."

Though reluctant, very much so at that because Haxx was the initial cause of her predicament, she obliged, Sula assuring her injured leg wasn't traumatized any farther. She placed each leg around his body, Haxx promptly placing his forearms behind his back and beneath her rear for support as her legs dangled between his body and arms. Volx's hands latched onto his uniform around his torso.

"You got her?" Sula assured, still watching the wounded leg vigilantly.

"Yeah," He replied with a nod, looking over his shoulder at Volx. "Hold on, here we go."

Much to her surprise, he stood up with relative ease, hunched over slightly as he hefted her weight on his back. Haxx already carried an impressive amount of gear, mainly spare ammunition for his repeater, but it was even more so to completely support Volx's weight and her loadout in addition to that.

"Comfortable?" Haxx questioned with a smirk.

"Other than the fact that I have a gaping, charred whole in my leg and can't walk…I'm fantastic," she sarcastically responded, turning to Sula, "you got any more painkillers? The PAK isn't cutting it and my thigh feels like it's on fire. Do something."

"I can't give you too much, Lieutenant," Sula warned cautiously, measuring out an amount in a syringe, extremely slow at that by Volx's standards, "it will run the risk of overdosing and putting you under for Irk knows how lon-"

She reached out and snatched the syringe from the Medical Officer, promptly plunging it into her own flesh just above the wound with a quick yelp at how tender the area was, and depressed the plunger to inject the solution.

"Aaaaaaahhhh, much better," Volx commented, retracting the needle and letting it fall into the pool with a splash, spurring Haxx in the side with her left heel, "Forward, slave!"

"You're welcome," Haxx dripped of sarcasm, flinching each time she dug her metal-clad feet into his sides, "I could just drop you, you know that right?"

"You do, you'll regret it," she made apparent, "those beatings I've given you before will be child's play compared to what I'll do to you if you do."

"I'd like to see you try, gimpy."

"Quiet, both of you," Corr ordered, frustrated with them, "…acting like a couple of bickering smeets," he trailed off with a shaking head.

They seemed to be fine in spirit despite as trying as the most recent run-in with the local faction, something that an entire platoon of regular Irken Elite would have been shell-shocked and depleted of energy, let alone fighting spirit. As a commanding officer of them on Praxxus 7, it was already a horror he'd rather not relive in his lifetime. If not for his prior experiences early on in Tallest Red and Purple's rule in the field, he would have cracked under the pressure like many of the fresh soldiers had done all around him. Even so, as the best of the best, they could only take so much.

Vult had a suspicion that s much as they would have liked to avoid it…it was inevitable they were going to be pushed to their very limits.

"Rem, where we going?"

"Next objective is…8 clicks due north-northeast, Commander," she rattled off from her holo-display of a map. "May take a little longer than planned if we run into any more resistance, but we're not too far behind schedule, Sir."

"Alright," Vult nodded, looking over the rest of the unit at his command, "you heard her, boys and girls, time to move out!"

"What about Tuu, Sir?" Rha questioned, resting his rifle over his shoulder as he leapt up and over the edge of the fountain.

Vult looked towards the building, the Irken Marksman in question jogging up to join the rest of the group. "That answer your question, Corporal?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Irken Commander turned his attention back to Tuu.

"I apologize for breaking off from the unit and against your orders, Commander," he sincerely spoke, "I wouldn't have had the time and angle necessary to set up the shot to take out the sniper."

"So you did slot him then?"

"As far as I could tell, Sir," he nodded, pointing to the exact window just in sight, "that window right there, the one barely visible from here. I lined up an unobstructed shot on one and he dropped, no movement or anything else came from that area, so I'm sure if anyone else was up there, they got the message and relocated."

Vult nodded with the recap and update of what happened from his Marksman's viewpoint.

"Normally…I'd chastise you for such an action, but…" he trailed, adding a smirk with a pat on the shoulder, "you're actions very well saved the unit, Sergeant. Why weren't you responding?"

"I did, Commander...before I closed the comm. link for concentration."

"We didn't receive it," Vult added, perplexed, realizing what may have happened. "Sula, you said Vard's helmet was destroyed, right?"

"Yes, Sir, I did."

"Bring it here."

She obeyed, handing the remnants of the helmet to Vult, wires and components dangling from the remains of the right side where the bolt sheared off a large portion. His visage grew in disgust at the sight, handing it back to her.

"That is just great," he scowled, shoving it back into the Medical Officer's hands, "That shot took out our comm. array. No link up to satcomms, we're out here with no communications support whatsoever from Command. I think we'll be lucky to keep squad comm. links up and running with the condition it's it."

"No big, Commander," Haxx unconsciously replied, "Vard will…fix…it." He realized about halfway through the statement because of the Comms. Technician's current state, his antenna dropping with disappointment, "…right."

"What do you suggest we do then, Sir?" Corr beckoned at the revelation.

"What we always do, Corr, what we always do…" Vult began, giving the various hand signals for them all to fall in and continue in patrol formation. "We press forward and don't look back."


	16. Inescapable Past and Uncertain Future

"Those kids remind me a lot of myself and the others in our prime," Corr commented from behind his office desk in his modest home. It was quite fortunate that he lived not too far off base. Having the opportunity to walk to work every day did wonders for the body and could have contributed to Corr remaining in somewhat good health in his elderly age. Even so, he knew it was inevitable that sooner or later, his time was to expire, much like any other before him. It was nature, and that was a fight that even a Shadow Striker couldn't win.

The retired Commander keyed in a command on his keyboard, bringing up a communications screen that folded out into view, the Irken Republic symbol gracing it in idle mode.

"Computer, contact Lead Researcher Vard at the Hall of Science and Technology," he requested of it as he leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers together.

"Processing command…clearance and identification required," the computer responded.

"Retired Armada Infantry Commander Corr, serial number A0789-07566," Corr clearly stated for the machine to pick up on, awaiting its response.

"Processing verification…verification accepted, Commander. Connecting…"

The screen snapped into focus, a short Irken clad in scientific paraphernalia appeared to be very interested in whatever it was he was working on, jotting down notes furiously on a datapad.

"Commander Vard?" Corr beckoned with a smile, hoping to grab his attention.

As intended, the goggle-clad visage turned in surprise, instantly snapping to attention with a salute out of respect. "Commander, Sir!"

"At ease, soldier," Corr chuckled, "it has been quite some time, how have you been?"

"Busy as always," he half-heartily chuckled, "seems with every discovery I make, more is asked of me."

"You did reverse engineer the need for PAKs, genetically altered the genome for natural reproduction once more, and have found the cure for several lethal aliments…I'm sure whatever you're working on now isn't too tough."

"Nothing I can't handle, Sir…If I may, Sir, but that isn't the reason you called me…is it? You normally don't contact any of us unless it is something major happening."

"You were always a sharp one, Vard," he huffed in amusement. "you couldn't be any more correct."

"Is it your health, Sir?"

"What? No, no, not at all. I'm old, Vard, not decrepit. Well…that has got me thinking of some things, but there is at least one thing I want to address with you to spread to the others."

"Anything for you, Commander."

"…Because I'm probably not going to be around much longer, I'd like to get everyone together one last time, catch up, just like we used to do while Rha was still around."

"I see," he nodded, "well, I'm sure I can find time, Aero would be more than happy to come along, the others may take some time to track down though."

"…and I started telling a few of my Cadets about our adventures."

Vard coughed at the idea, almost blown away at that revelation, especially after what they were specifically told by the first Chancellor of the Republic what NOT to do.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but did you just say you were telling someone about our…unit?"

"I didn't stutter, Vard," Corr assured in his usual fashion, a trait he seemed to pick up from Vult rather evidently. "Regardless of classified information or not, someone has to know, someone has to carry on the legacy. Sure, we got our hands dirty from time to time, but without us, the Empire would have long ago collapsed, long before we even set foot on Vort, and our people would be lost and broken in the present."

"…That's the nature of our work though, Sir," Vard respectfully pointed out, "we knew that our accomplishments were going to go unrewarded from the beginning."

"I'm not talking about rewards, Vard, I'm talking about the concept…us…the Shadow Strikers. Ten of the Empire's best soldiers it ever had to offer, ten that put everything on the line without question, without regret…without remorse. What we stood for…the ideals, Vard. If we are simply forgotten with time, no one will ever know how the truth of the formation of the Republic ever coming about, the downfall of the Empire and its Tallest…everything one large cover-up conspiracy."

Vard sighed in content as he listed to his former commanding officer's fervent speech.

"It has been nearly a century since, Sir, it isn't as if words now can change what happened then," he reasoned with a readjustment of his goggles that sat over his eyes. "I hope that the current administration thinks the same if word reaches them about you doing so."

"You plan on informing then?"

"Of course not, Commander," Vard assured, "I'm loyal to the unit, myself, and who we serve, in that order as it has always been."

"Good to know the ideals have remained with you as well," Corr nodded with a slight smirk, "so you think you can start getting in contact with the others then?"

"I'll try my best, Commander, no promises since it has been quite some time since I've spoken with any of them as we all have seemed to drift our separate ways. I'm curious, Sir…how much have you told them thus far?"

"Well…" he sighed, recollecting, "I started from the very beginning and I've just made it to the first run-in with The Specter of Vengeance."

"That means that –"

"Correct," Corr interrupted, slightly perturbed by the thought, "…the incidents with Captain Saro."

Operations had officially began a mere 16 hours ago on Vort, a few days after the Shadow Strikers and a few other Spec Ops units had already been in operation preparing the incoming forces by weakening key points in Vortian defenses and disrupting supplies to make the landing as flawless as possible. Caring more for the well-being of their people, government officials had retracted and evacuated many citizens within contention of what was going to become the frontline of the war to push the Irken invaders from their world. Morale was already somewhat low as news of Praxxus 7's fall to the Empire reached the homeworld, instigating a rush of armament and defensive measures, digging in for what was going to be the fight of their lives. Vortian citizens and soldiers alike prepared and refused to give up what was theirs by right. The Irken had already stabbed them in the back before with the severance of the alliance, taking with them various technologies, and now had the nerve to directly assault them in attempt of a conquest and bend a knee to the Irken Empire. As long as there was still a Vortian banner to unite under, that day would never come.

Drive by commitment to the Empire and command of the Almighty Tallest, its soldiers wouldn't cease until the mission had been seen through. Even this early in, it was becoming evident that resistance was far more prepared and troublesome than predicted.

As long as Captain Saro of the Irken Elite Guard unit Alpha Omega 13 had anything to do with it, he was going to see to it that Supreme Commander Grimm's words were followed to the fullest, one way or another, they would be done.

His unit was part of a forward attachment that managed to break through the Vortian lines and hand the "glamorous" task of searching structures, block by block to ensure there were no unfortunate surprises waiting for them. To him, however…he took far too much enjoyment in it. He simply watched on with his arms crossed behind his back, eyes squinted in pleasure as Vortian civilians were dragged kicking and screaming from their homes into the street, rounded up like animals for questioning as their possessions were rifled through, destroyed, and ransacked. This wasn't the usual manner to proceed with such operations, but Saro found sick pleasure in watching what he considered "inferior races" suffer beneath the might of the Irken.

Of the many comparisons many made to Saro, he was very similar to Grimm…minus the limitations and somewhat respectful demeanor he had towards others, despite his position.

Saro exercised his power over all that he could, commanded his company of 100 soldiers with an iron fist, and severely punished those who stepped out of line even for the smallest of things. He watched as a Vortian male lunged for the Irken soldiers harassing his family, only to have a rifle butt be slammed into his face, knocking him to the ground, his mate and children crying out at his predicament. The screams of terror and agony only intensified as the soldier he attempted to lunge for fired two rounds point blank into his chest. All Saro could do but huff a laugh through a crooked smile at the showing.

"O, what pitiful fools," he chuckled, watching the female attempt to latch onto the fresh corpse of her mate, ripped away by the collar by the soldiers with the rest of the civilians gathered. "They really think they can withstand the might of the Irken Empire? Struggle all they will, the more that do so…the more I can slaughter. Filthy creatures is all they really are, primitives masquerading as a sentient race worthy of admiration. They disgust me."

One of his Lieutenants jogged up, snapping to attention with a salute before he spoke.

"Block is clear, Sir," he informed, "nothing but civilians here."

"They look awfully defiant for just civilians, Lieutenant," Saro smiled sickeningly as he unholstered his pistol. "I think it would be in our…best interest to put them down…permanently."

"You're the boss, Sir," He nodded, leading his commanding officer to the group of Vortians held against their will amidst the street, surrounded by his own soldiers.

"Line 'em up, boys!" He motioned with his empty hand towards the wall running parallel to the street across from their homes.

With violent shoves and forceful commands, the soldiers maneuvered the frightened inhabitants against the wall, cries of fear and terror evident as they knew what was coming. Approximately 2 dozen Vortian citizens, mainly families with Hornlings, stood huddled in fear as Saro's soldiers kept weapons trained on them, backing up to form a firing line.

"Ready…" Saro began, a wicked smile curving about his lips behind his combat mask, "Aim…"

Nearly 30 rifles of his hundred soldier detail came to the ready, leveled off at the civilians. The panic grew in crescendo.

"Fire!" He ordered, their weapons exploding to life as they dashed the innocent Vortians to charred bits in a hail of plasma fire. The fresh, smoldering corpses fell, mates protecting one another and their children as they had fallen, but it was to no avail.

If Saro had a heart in addition to his squeedly spooch, it would be as black as they came.

"…never gets tiring," he commented as he holstered his own sidearm once more, "the smell of charred flesh is so…invigorating."

"Indeed it is, Sir," The Lieutenant responded as he reloaded his plasma rifle, "what's next, Captain? More search and seizure? I'm lookin' forward to getting in a firefight with some regulars, civies don't put up a fight."

Saro grabbed hold of his Comm. Officer's collar, jerking him within inches of his own face.

"You heard anything on that unit we're supposed to be linking up with?"

"N-No, Sir, nothing at all from them, last transmission was several hours ago, calling for assistance, it was cut off."

"Speckies aren't that easily slotted, not like these Vortian_ vodeto,_" He pointed out as he released his collar, an interesting reference to Spec. Ops. soldiers, "I'm tired of waiting on them, find out where the Irk they're at and we'll rendezvous somewhere near them. It's getting dark soon, the quicker we find them, the better. That means less grunt work for once."

"Yes, Sir, Captain," he nodded, preparing to contact them, only to have the headset ripped free, throwing him off balance as Saro put it on his own head.

"I'll do it, patch me through to Command."

A series of twists of knobs and switches on his forearm prepared the proper channel for communications, the Comm. Officer giving a thumbs up gesture that it was ready.

"Command, this is Captain Saro of Alpha Omega 13, requesting the location and/or last known coordinates of Special Operations Unit…" he checked his own orders on his cybernetic eye that replaced his missing left one, "Delta Centauri 00. My orders are to link up with them and proceed to a manufacturing facility to shut it down permanently."

"Command here, Captain," a voice responded with the usual static from electronic transmission, "regarding Delta Centauri's 00 last-known coordinates, you do not have proper clearance to that information and I cannot disclose it to you."

"How am I supposed to find them if they're not on the grid and aren't transmitting then, Command?" He unbelievably questioned, "what about their last transmission?"

"Again, you lack the proper clearance for that request, I cannot give you that information."

The Elite Captain was more than upset with the nonchalance of their attitude.

"Put me through to someone that has the information and won't withhold it from me like a _ikveda murata_!" Saro angrily demanded. "I've got plenty of fight left in me even after putting down Vorts, don't make me make a special trip to take it out on you."

"…standby," the appalled voice responded.

"…Supreme Commander Grimm here, Captain," a dark, yet composed voice responded, surprising even Saro. "I'm informed you're looking for a certain Special Operations unit, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, Commander," Saro straightened up at the superior's voice, "Alpha Centauri 00. It is difficult for me to proceed on-mission to link up with them if I haven't heard of their whereabouts or last known location, Commander. They have failed to respond to any of our hails and by our account, haven't transmitted in hours. I highly doubt they are KIA, Sir."

"Clearly," he responded straightforwardly, "…transmitting last known locale now. They haven't responded to prior attempts of communication and have been silent for approximately…7 hours. In regard to their current location, Captain, given the last known and your abilities, see to it that you formulate a plan to proceed on your own accord."

"Yes, Sir, will do," Saro respectfully obeyed, nodding as he spoke.

"Report once you have re-established contact with them, Captain, Command out."

Saro returned the headset to the bewildered Comm. Officer.

"Alright, boys, saddle up!" He exclaimed to his unit of 100 strong, motioning for them to start following as he studied the information on his implant. "Grimm was kind enough to give us the last known location of those Speckies, let's go see what the Irk is going on, maybe blow some stuff up!"

"You heard him, move it out!" The Lieutenant quickly followed up with a wave of his hand, getting them to jog up into patrol formation. "Eyes peeled and stay alert! We're in Vort territory now, don't let them get the jump on us!"

Various responses came forth in obedience as ammunition was checked and gear situated for what was going to be a grueling hike to Alpha Centauri 00's last-known position.

Alpha Centauri 00 happened to be the legitimate callsign on the open Armada channels for the Shadow Strikers, just another Special Operations unit operating planetside. At a glance, and as intended, that was all that they appeared. If the event arose, it was possible to radio Command for assistance…as they had attempted to do before Vard was unlucky, or lucky, depending on the view, to have nearly been killed by a deadly marksman.

"How's everyone holding up back there?" Vult questioned with a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Just fine, Commander," Aero cheerily managed, Vard still unconscious as she bore his weight with ease on her back, arms dangling over her shoulders, his legs through her arms as she supported his behind on her forearms. "What about you, Sergeant Haxx?"

He looked like he was ready to keel over from exhaustion, panting for air. Even walking seemed to be a chore all in its own at this point. Volx, however, was asleep from the massive dose of painkillers she injected without Sula measuring the correct amount out.

"Just…peachy, never…better," he managed between breaths, straining to keep Volx from plummeting.

"You've been carrying her for a long time, Haxx," Rha began, placing his rifle on its magnetic attachment point on his back, "let me carry her and give you a break for a while."

All he did was shake his head in defiance of the idea.

"It's my…burden to bear." Haxx responded, the last half barely audible through a strained breath.

"What was that?"

"I said…" Haxx continued, gritting his teeth for a moment, "it's my burden…to bear. I caused it to happen…I'm going to try to…make up for it."

Rha was shocked for a moment at the most obnoxious, stubborn, and sometimes idiotic Irken he had ever personally met actually admitted fault to something. The universe didn't come to a chaotic and violent end via explosion, so it might have been a dream. He heard the words, no less though.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you don't take a break for awhile," Sula cautioned as she slowed a bit in the patrol to walk beside him. "You've been carrying her since it happened, that was about 7 hours ago."

"If I stop now…I don't think I can keep going." He laughed to himself. "I'll be fine…first chance we get, a bit of sleep…I'll be just fine."

"Look half-dead to me," Tuu smirked from behind his visor.

"I…feel like it."

"Okay, this is definitely strange," Rha commented uneasily, walking backwards as he faced Tuu, raising a finger as he counted off. "Admitting fault? Punishing himself for said fault? Now not having a comeback or threat to a scathing comment?" The Corporal turned back to Haxx, knocking on his helmet a couple times, "You sure you didn't get a head injury or something? You're starting to really creep me out."

"He's not a machine if you couldn't tell," Rem added in amusement, "he feels bad for getting Volx shot and is trying to make up for it. Even the "mighty" Irken are capable of making mistakes, as well as feeling emotions. As much as you want to believe or allow it to do so, the PAK doesn't completely tune all of that out, merely suppresses it."

"Blah, blah, blah, no one cares about philosophies, Rem," Rha joked with her, realizing the truth in what she said.

"Permission to speak freely, Commander?"

Vult sighed. Time and time again, he told him just to do so. Amongst the unit, there was no need for such formalities, well…most of the time anyway.

"What's on your mind, Corr?"

"We've been on the move all day, the sun has set," he pointed out logically. "We've got wounded with only 8 of us at combat effective level, possibly 7 with Haxx's condition and lack of a primary weapon, and we are still without long range communications."

"I assume you're wanting to propose a solution then, right?" Vult summed up with a glance at his second-in-command.

"Yes, Sir, I do," Corr promptly nodded, "I think it would be in all of our best interest if we find a suitable place to rest for the night. I know that we would benefit from moving under the cover of darkness, but in our current state, we're barely fit to press forward, let alone engage any enemy combatants of any strength. This deep into Vortian-controlled territory, I'm surprised we haven't run into any more resistance since the incident at the fountain."

"…all logically reasoned," Vult nodded as he slowed their pace somewhat. "We're behind schedule as it is though, the last thing we need to do is stop to rest."

"Commander, with all due respect," he began, which seemed to be Vult's least favorite saying from him as it was usually followed with the hard truth of the matter, "there's no way in Irk we can do anything effectively at the moment. No comms, Vard and Volx are out of commission, Haxx is dead on his feet and doesn't have a weapon…if we engage anyone at this point, I'm more than certain we'd have casualties if not lose the entire unit."

"…I hate it when he's right," Vult thought to himself, turning back to Corr, "Very well, Captain, you raise a good point…several, in fact. Find a suitable place and we'll do so."

It didn't take long for Corr to do so. After yet another breaking and entering into an evacuated domicile, this one a little more upscale in appearance than the last, they had the perfect vantage point for keeping watch and giving everyone a chance to rest for a moment. Haxx literally collapsed upon setting Volx down gently, Vard laid next to him by Aero. His small stature made it appear as if she was putting a child to rest. The three of them, all Shadow Strikers, trained killers and hardened veterans of warfare, looked as peaceful as could be.

"I guess that settles who's resting first," Rem stated with a huff of a laugh, setting her rifle against the wall as she kicked back in a chair, propping her boots up on a table. She removed her helmet, pulling her antenna free of the holes atop, and placed it next to her on the floor, by her rifle.

"Don't get too comfortable there," Rha commented, patting her on the shoulder, "you've got first watch with me."

"Hoo-ray," she sarcastically answered with an unamused look about her face. It was a bit difficult to tell what emotion she was expressing with her grafted implants that sat over her eyes.

"Medical Officer," Vult asked of her as his soldiers started unloading some of their gear to lessen the weight and actually rest for a moment.

"Sir?"

"What's the status on these three?" he motioned to the trio laying on the floor.

"Well…" she began, running a claw over her head, then wiping some dirt from her face, "Volx's wound…all I can do is keep it clean for the time being, let the healing take its course since I don't have access to the tools and materials I need to perform reconstructive surgery. She should be up and walking around without incident within a couple days."

"Then why is she unconscious?"

"…she took my syringe from me before I measured out the correct dosage, so she's out like a light for awhile."

"What about Vard? Anything serious?"

"From what I can tell, Commander, no, at the most, a minor concussion from the force of the impact on the helmet before the damage was done. His PAK should be wrapping that up anytime soon, I expect him to come to in a few hours at the most."

"If you can get him to do so sooner, that would be great," Vult pressed, "I need him to fix the comm. array so we can get back on task." He looked at the sprawled-out, snoring form of Haxx. The Heavy Weapons Sergeant rolled over, wrapping an arm around Volx in his sleep. It was going to be…amusing to say the least if either of them became aware of the fact "…I assume he's just tired, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, a wee bit exhausted possibly from carrying Lt. Volx. Aero was lucky enough because Vard is so small and light, but Haxx is smaller and Volx is a little larger than Vard, so that's quite a big change in weight ratio. Considering all the gear he already carries…I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did, Sir."

"Make sure to let Volx know that when she comes around, punishing himself and whatnot. Saves me the trouble of doing so," the Commander pointed out, turning with a wave of the hand, "carry on, Medical Officer."

"Yes, Sir, Commander," she crisply saluted before returning back to her details.

"Captain, a moment of your time," Vult motioned as he walked past towards another room of the domicile "We've got matters to discuss."

"Sir?" He obliged, entering the kitchen and dining area, a balcony with a large bay window overlooking the nighttime scenery of the ghostly cityscape. An area usually alive and teaming with activity was strangely silent and retained an uneasy feeling of emptiness from the evacuation. Far in the distance on the horizon, brief flashes of white-hot light dotted the landscape from time to time, a series of larger ones every so often from a Deathwave Cannon volley. The front lines of this campaign were pushing ever so closely, destroying much in its wake. The Irken were winning, but for how long? At what cost?

"I'm going to be honest with you on this one, Corr," Vult began, almost ashamed in tone, "but I feel responsible for what has happened today. This far behind enemy lines…I should have known better than to be moving in broad daylight out in the open like that."

"There's no way you would have known that would have happened, Commander," Corr reasoned, "like you said yourself, things like this happen, it's part of our job description. I admire the fact you kept it together, unlike other Irken Elite regulars I've witnessed before, under such great pressure, and got all of us out of it alive. I'd take minor wounded over a casualty any day of the week, Sir."

"…I suppose, I put too much faith in our equipment as opposed to training and skills. The Vortians created the cloaking technology, of course they'd have the mode to combat it as well."

The Irken Commander rested against the wall, his forehead against his forearm as he looked out over the city to the raging battle off in the distance. "…I'll just have to be more cautions since we've all been given a second chance for my blunder."

Corr nodded in respect of his commanding officer, one strong enough to keep it together through thick and thin, as well as admit his faults. It seemed to be contagious on this day considering Haxx managed to do the same. "So what is our next move, Sir?"

Vult sighed as he stood up once more, knowing their work was far from over.

"First things first, we need to get our comm. back up and running," he began, pointing to the remnants of the helmet sitting on the kitchen table with Vard's tools. "find out what the Irk has been going on and let Command know we're still alive and on task."

"As well as establishing contact with that Irken Elite Guard company…Alpha Omega 13, something or other." Corr added to their plight.

"That too," Commander Vult nodded with disdain. He could hardly believe that things could have gone so wrong, so fast. It was a blessing and a curse all in the same. Everyone was still alive, not so much vertical at the moment, but breathing. However…the situation with the radio and location behind Vort-held territory. "One thing at a time, Corr…one thing at a time," he finally uttered, setting his own helmet down as he rounded the table, inspecting Vard's helmet once more.

With so much on his mind as the thoughts raged, he finally realized something. His stare snapped to Corr again.

"Who did you say we were linking up with for this assignment?"

"…Alpha Omega 13, Sir, I think," Corr informed, pressing one of the buttons on the side of visor to scroll through the information, "…yes, AO-ten-three." He rattled off in short-hand that Armada regulars had become accustomed to in the field. It was unofficial since Command highly enjoyed the long-winded names or callsigns that units carried because it "sounded cool". Sounding cool was the least of their worries in the field or under fire.

"I need that comm. up and running, ASAP," Vult ordered, looking over his shoulder to Aero, whom was tending to Vard's wounds on his face, "Concussion or not, Sergeant, bring him to, now."

"…Yes, Sir," she hesitantly responded, perplexed at his urgency.

She wasn't the only one.

"Sir, what's wrong?"

"I need to get a hold of Command and call off this rendevouz before it's too late, that's what's wrong."

"I'm not sure I understand, Commander," Corr truthfully answered, "We need all the help we can get at this point, you're wanting to turn away reinforcements when we have wounded?"

"Trust me on this one, Captain," Vult ominously spoke, "…you do not want to work with them."

"Why not, Sir? How do you know of them?" Corr pressed, seeing that his commanding officer, one of the most composed soldiers he had ever met in his life was teeming with frustration, almost pure anger at the mentioning of them.

"…Let's just say that their C.O. and I have a…history," the Irken Commander mentioned, looking at Corr once more, "…a history I thought I'd never have to remember again. Appears I was wrong…" He trailed off.

The Captain straightened up from his leaning posture against the table with a sigh of concern inaudible to Vult.

"What could have possibly happened to cause such ire in the calmest officer I know?" He pondered as he watched in silence with Vard stumbling over finally, rubbing his head, Aero aiding to assure he didn't fall over. The Commander was right however, first things first, the radio needed to be fixed.

It was inevitable, however, that Commander Vult was going to confront a figment of his past, something he wished had remained buried and never reared its ugly, putrid head again. Even in the current environment of the Shadow Striker psyche of relying and trusting one another, including sharing everything…this was something that he never wanted them to know of him.


	17. Knowledge is Power

"It's strange, really…"

"Hmm? I'm sorry, what did you say?" Rha responded in a whisper, unresponsive at the most. Fatigue tended to do that to the mind.

Having first watch got it out of the way, but seemed to always drag on the longest, the body wanting to do nothing more than simply shut down and rest for once. After having a more than exciting day of traversing miles upon miles of urban terrain, engaging enemy forces in combat, warding off a marksman, and attempting to figure out what to do next with wounded and a malfunctioning comm. array…rest was in order.

It may not have been the most logical nor wanted thing, but organic beings, even the Irken, needed it from time to time in order to continue functioning properly. The two of them, however, were seated at the dining room table, shrouded in darkness beneath the cover of nightfall. Silence enveloped around them as their comrades slept, those wounded continuing to get rest. The small domicile was hard pressed for room with the ten soldiers present, but they made do with what was provided. The smell was a whole other story, the tight quarters and combined stench of ten Irken in dire need of cleansing, both body and uniform, was repugnant.

Vard, on the other hand, was in the bathroom with the door closed in order to use the lighting to see what he was doing to repair the communications equipment without disturbing the others or giving away their position. Ever since regaining consciousness hours ago, he had been diligently working, though his assignment of the unit, he felt more than required to do so after being unable to aid his comrades in combat. Sula assured him nothing permanent came from his close call of having his head blown off, but the psychological stir still remained at how incredibly close he had come.

"Good thing I'm not putting my life in your hands or anything, Rha," Rem elbowed him playfully in the ribs with a smirk.

"Yeah, sorry," he sheepishly replied as he readjusted his posture in the chair, keeping his rifle on his lap at the ready. "Just a little worn out after today, what did you say?"

"I said it's strange." Rem reiterated, leaning back in her chair across the table, kicking her boots up on it, hands clasped behind her head.

"What is? I'm not sure I follow." Rha answered with perplexity.

"This, Rha, all of this," she followed up, motioning around the apartment, as well as out the window. "everything. I mean, we're on an enemy planet, behind the frontlines in their territory…acting just like it's any other day and it's a usual thing."

"Well…it is, for us anyway," he respectfully pointed out, "to regulars, maybe a bit out of the ordinary, but it's our job, it's what we do."

"Even so, Rha, everyone's catching a few winks, we're watching out for them, and with this view," she pointed to the magenta glow of a full Praxxus 7 illuminating all rather elegantly in the silence, "…I'm not complaining. It's just hard to believe that we're pitted in combat operations on this world, this view makes it appear as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I bet Vort is an amazing place when things aren't all chaotic like this, a real shimmering gem in space."

"You're probably right," Rha nodded in agreement as he peered forward slightly, the rumbling of Vortian armor and the jogging of numerous troops in the street below garnering his attention for the moment. "…but that is just how things are and they're going to stay that way for quite a while at this rate. Vorts keep moving in reinforcements like this, that line is going to get stalled out, and our job gets that much harder."

"That's a whole other issue all in its own. We're hardly ever effected, if at all, by what Armada regulars do or have problems with. I mean, come on, this is the first time we've ever worked in conjuncture with anyone, right?"

Rha nodded his head once more.

"So why start? I enjoy how…relaxed things are here in this unit…with you guys," she half-heartily stated, "it's hard to explain…but I actually feel…important now, you know? Like I'm actually wanted and others care about me or what happens to me in general. Things get tough time to time, like now, but I feel…oddly serene and at home around everyone."

"Well, the Commander did want to build on the principles of brothers-in-arms, more a family than a unit, bond that cannot be broken by traditional means…you see where I'm going with this, don't you?" He finished with a laugh.

"Of course," she smirked with amusement, "I just kinda did what I was told in the regular ranks, followed orders, etcetera, etcetera, so on and so forth… now…now I can go about doing things my way, well, within reason, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, I get what you're saying, Rem," Rha nodded with a sigh, "o, what life we live…" He motioned with his finger in the air, unamused.

"Hey…mind if I ask you something?" She queried after a moment of silence, still keeping alert as to, trying to pass the time.

"Shoot, what's on your mind?"

"I didn't know if you had a problem with bringing it up," Rem explained, "but we've been together in this unit for quite a while and you never really said how you come to get that scar on your face."

"Well…" Rha drew in with a pause, recollecting, "I don't have so much as an issue with it, just the memories attached. I wear it both as a badge of honor for my service to the Empire…as well as a memoir of the nightmare that was Praxxus 7 in ID 1. As for how I got it, long story short…I was unlucky enough to catch a good-sized piece of shrapnel from a Vortian grenade as out unit went up and over the berm for an offensive assault on the line. Most painful thing I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing thus far, but I stayed on my feet and kept fighting since it was below my eye and blood stayed out of it. The M.O. that stitched it back together and everything said I was lucky, any more damage and my eye would have fell out of socket." He finished, hoping that he hadn't disturbed Rem too much with the details. "Would it be fair to ask what's up with your…" Rha pointed around his own eyes, hinting at Rem's own artificial nature.

"Sure," she shrugged without a care, "being a pilot is pretty demanding if you weren't already aware. I was a bit…competitive with my flight class. Despite my height compared to them since I'm not exactly the tallest, I wanted to prove that I was just as good a navigator and pilot as those destined to captain and control the largest warships of the Armada while I and others just as tall, if not shorter, were going to be given the less than…enjoyable ones."

"Well, if you were in the Armada ranks…what would you have been piloting?"

"Taking my height into consideration…either the ever expendable and highly ironic dropship pilot or a refuse vessel. My choices were either a crate that handled like garbage with a huge target painted on it for AA fire, or one full of garbage…and dookie among other things. Pilots of my…stature are expendable. Not exactly glamorous. These…" she tapped the artificial, metallic surface "…however, set me out for the rest of them. Gives me a bit better sight and reaction time, nothing extravagant, more assisted sight than anything. If anything, a watered-down version of a marksman's scope with a built-in navigational interface."

"I see…but you're the best pilot that I've seen thus far," Rha complimented, hoping to lighten her mood somewhat, "You handle a ship that easily requires several to pilot all by yourself. Navigation, weapons, radar…everything, like an orchestrated symphony or something, you do it all. I just know how to blow stuff up."

"That is a commendable profession still. The Armada needs stuff blown up all the time, you have the skills, they need them, its as simple as that." Rem pointed out, smiling slightly behind her mask "…thanks for the compliment."

"Same to you…I guess," he laughed at how simple she had placed it. Rha stood up, wary of the noise he created as he placed his rifle against the wall beside the balcony window. "I'm going to go check on Vard, I'll be right back."

"Take your time, no rush," she nonchalantly responded with a wave of the hand, "you're not going to miss out on anything." Rem noticed the time readout on her own watch as she did so, "our shift is nearly up anyway, I'll go wake up Haxx and Corr."

The Demolitions Technician opened the door to the bathroom, light filtering from the room into the rest of the apartment in a soft glow. Rha was surprised at what he saw, more amused than anything. Remnants of his helmet's component lays strewn about on the floor and countertop of the sink, his datapad still scrolling through the schematics and readouts that pertained to their combat helmets. The minor meal of rations they all had shared prior to turning in for the evening still sat on the counter as well, a sign he had been working for hours upon hours…and that he was laying in the bathtub, one leg over the edge, oblivious to the world. With his eyes closed behind his goggles, he held a component in one hand on his chest, wires and small electronic circuitry beneath it, the equivalent of a soldering iron in the other. Vard's chest sighed peacefully as he slept, a peaceful, serene look on his face.

Rha was wary of where he put his feet as he approached, reaching out to gently tap Vard's leg.

"Sergeant? Sergeant Vard?" He respectfully addressed, attempting to wake him.

It was then that Rha had just noticed Aero was present as well.

She was beneath him, nearly dwarfed by her size as most of her back was against the wall of the shower behind her, head slightly slumped over. It was a surprise to say the least to see her there, but logic quickly took over. If anyone out of them other than Vard stood a chance of helping fix their problems, it would have been her. The radio was in dire need of repair and time was of the essence, but even they needed rest. He was more or less laying on her lap, his head resting on her chest. Aero's right arm was lightly wrapped over his person as the two of them slept.

Rha hadn't a clue as to what to make of it, tired or not, the radio needed fixed. His efforts seemed to go on denied without fruition to wake him up, further solidified as the Sergeant's only movement was a readjustment of posture and turning on his side as he lay upon the much larger Irken.

Understanding of the situation, Rha picked up the datapad on the counter, opening a blank file, and began inputting information on it while keeping the diagnostics program and schematics up in the background. After a few keystrokes, he placed it just in front of Aero's face on her chest.

"Hopefully the alarm isn't too loud," he commented, assuring it was so, "but I'll let the both of you get some more rest, at least until next shift change for watch."

Meanwhile, Rem had already waken the Captain and proceeded to do so with Haxx. Turns out that even after several hours of sleep, especially for an Irken, that he didn't seem to be anywhere near waking up. His annoying, loud snoring continue, his posture managing to allow for his arm to become wrapped around Volx's torso. If she woke up, there was no telling what she'd do upon finding him touching her, regardless of being unintentional or not. Space didn't permit for much else, but the last one of them she wanted around her at the moment was him.

"Haxx, get up," Rem gently shoved, getting what sounded like a groan of annoyance, as well as a gentle push of her hands off of his side.

"5 more minutes, robot arm…" he mumbled, barely audible. It was clear he was still half-asleep, but it still perplexed Rem nonetheless.

"Get your _c'hurta _up, Haxx, it's your turn for watch," she pressed, vigorously shaking him more.

Like a child, he did the same once more, responding with his own sounds of annoyance as he slapped at her hands. She retracted, hands on her hips in a perturbed manner, turning as she felt Captain Corr's hand rest on her shoulder.

"Allow me," Corr politely stated, getting her to move. "Go get some rest."

With ease, he rolled Haxx onto his back and promptly slapped him in the face, just hard enough to get the point across. It didn't resonate too loudly, but Haxx's eyes shot open with surprise as he clutched at his cheek from the prompt, stinging sensation.

"Ow! Why'd you do that for, Rem?" He responded defiantly, only to see Corr standing over him, his expression more or less demanding him to get up, "er, I mean, Captain, Sir." Haxx corrected himself, saluting while still laying on the floor.

"On your feet, Sergeant," he thumbed, "watch duty with me, hop to it."

"Yes, Sir," Haxx obeyed without question, collecting his helmet, and placed it back on his head. "You do remember that I don't have a primary weapon, don't you, Sir?"

"It's watch, not an assault," Corr clarified, unamused, pointing, "if it would make you feel any more secure, use Rem's for the time being."

Without a word of resentment, Haxx obeyed his superior, the two of them taking their places at the table just as Rem and Rha had done for their shift. Rha closed the bathroom door behind him as he exited it with the intention of turning in for the night as well.

"Aero's in there as well if you need her for her shift, Captain," he yawned as he began laying down.

Corr simply nodded in understanding as he situated himself into a comfortable position.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you," the Captain looked over at Haxx, whom was still drifting in and out of sleep, straightening up at Corr's voice, "but that was rather noble of you what you did for Lieutenant Volx, Sergeant."

"It was the least that I could do…especially since it was my fault, Sir," he answered humbly, covered by a stretch and a yawn. "Sorry, Captain, still a bit tired from carrying her around."

"Just keep your eyes open and pay attention," Corr ordered in a manner of importance, "watch is simply more than just being awake while the others rest. You're the first of line of defense if our position is compromised. If you aren't prepared, everyone would more than likely be killed. Don't take this job so lightly…" he trailed off.

Haxx swallowed nervously.

"Never looked at it like that before to be honest, Sir," he admitted sheepishly, his full awareness finally apparent. "...you and the Commander are angry at me, aren't you?"

Corr was a little surprised, especially with the tone.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I've still got 3 weeks or so left of latrine duty on the ship because of my disobeying orders. Now, I've managed to get one of my squadmates injured in the field due to my lack of regard for safety. I don't even want to imagine what punishment you or Commander Vult have planned for me, Captain."

"Well…to be quite honest," Captain Corr summed up calmly, "you took your punishment without confrontation for the most part, and this most recent…episode, Sergeant…I think you've managed to balance that issue out by carrying her, your literal burden. There is, however, one amendment left to that you should seek in rectifying."

"What would that be, Sir?"

"Smoothing things over between Lieutenant Volx, both for this and the past thus far." The Captain looked at the Sergeant across the table, "Look…Haxx," he began, immediately signaling that it was more sincere and less formal than usual in Corr's usual nature. "I know that you're a bit…eccentric than most soldiers, you like to cut back…a little more than I would hope you would at times, but nonetheless, it's just one of your character qualities. It tends to get you in trouble, both with orders and your fellow squadmates, especially the Lieutenant. She's a stickler for regulations…those which you constantly breach, so she's diametrically opposed to your presence. Even though it's not your style, try showing a little more respect, she may stop treating you the way she does."

"Even if I did, she still hates me, Captain." Haxx pointed out, his eyes lowering to the floor, "…I get the feeling everyone does sometimes."

"In her case Haxx, that's just how she is. She's not even all that talkative or sociable with me, the Commander, anyone for that matter. The Lieutenant takes her job and position very seriously, though she may not show it…she's as good as friend as any of the others, if not more so." Corr explained reassuringly, "and despite your feeling, Sergeant, I know that without question, each and every one of us in this unit would risk life and limb to aid you if you needed it. That was the principle that Commander Vult raised us all on from the start."

"We are Shadow Strikers," Haxx recited as he had done time and time again, "we are an entity without attachment, we rely on no one but ourselves. We wait in the shadows where we are most at home, and strike when commanded without hesitation or mercy."

"Without our creed, we are nothing Haxx," Corr made clear, "that is why it is spoken as such, "We" instead of "I". Without trust and reliance…we have nothing. We can't be so callous, so…thoughtless to simply go and complete our assigned task without it. Unlike the regular ranks, we don't have the luxury of simply calling for help and wait to be saved from whatever situation our short-sightedness got us into in the first place."

Haxx was stunned in silence at actually how prevalent and important a simple mantra that was spoken had been.

"Wow…I guess I never looked at the big picture before like that, Sir," he finally admitted, feeling a little relieved, "I always thought I was part of something larger, but in fact…they're all a part of me. I'm me, but so are they, without them, I'm only a small part of what remains."

Corr nodded with a smirk of satisfaction after finally getting the point across to him.

"I hope you'll act a little more…becoming from now on, won't you, Sergeant?"

"No promises…but I'll try my best, Captain," He huffed a bit of a laugh.

After a moment of silence, Haxx chuckled to himself, peaking Corr's interest.

"Something funny, Sergeant?"

"What? No, no, nothing, Sir," he explained with a smirk, "I just got to thinking about some things."

"Such as?"

"Well…call me crazy, but I get the feeling that I have incredibly bad luck for no apparent reason. Sure, I deserved some of what has come about in consequences for my actions, but like at the fountain and in the sewer…oh, Irk, the sewer….it's as if I'm not in control of my actions sometimes, then terrible, terrible things happen in response. I…I feel like someone else is forcing me to do these things at times. I don't know how else to explain it."

"…That is crazy, Haxx…you're crazy," Corr finally shook his head of the idea. It was absurd, even for him. "It's not fate and you're not tempting it, it's something that you're in control of, just keep a clear mind and use logic as opposed to your usual bravado and everything will be just fine, I assure you. A little common sense goes a long way, after all."

"I hope so, Sir," he nodded, the thought still bugging him slightly, "…Captain?"

"Yes, Sergeant, what is it?"

"…Thanks, I appreciate it," He cracked a smile that actually matched his tone of voice for once.

"Think nothing of it," Corr nodded modestly, "I'm your commanding officer, comrade, but most of all…friend, it's what I do. I expect you to do the same for anyone else in this unit when the need arises as well. That compassion and understanding is what sets us out from the Armada regulars, it's what makes us who we are."

Calling it an epiphany would be a stretch, but it was more or less a revelation for the Heavy Weapons Sergeant. He only hoped the sagely words of Corr, a trait that seemed to have been directly learned from Vult, would prove to be useful, let alone true, especially in the possible wrath of Lieutenant Volx when she came to again.

The rest of their shift went on without incident, the occasional conversations spanning the usual topics of their prior missions, as well as Haxx's impressive knowledge of Armada weaponry.

In turn, Corr was more than eager to share his retained information of their people's history. For a soldier that thoroughly enjoyed the arsenal of the Armada, this was more than engaging, an academic lesson that was far from boring…more than he could say for the very limited and less than appealing ones offered on Devastis that were more technical than anything.

Soldiers needed to know how to find cover, fire weapons, and follow orders. Past that, the Empire cared very little of what they knew, "staying alive" on that list as well. When casualties were so easily replaced in such a system, it was just wasted resources. To think that life was worth less than funding for enriching courses at the Academy was quite depressing to say the least.

Like clockwork, the next pair to assume overwatch for their comrades took over, Aero and Vult found their places at the table. Thankful that the alarm went off when it did, it allowed her to get some rest while having some more time dedicated to continuing repairs on the comm. array. She moved most of the components from the bathroom onto the table and proceeded to work under the cover of darkness with a small, dim lamp from a desk in the other room over her. Vard had managed to rewire and solder the damaged electronics, all that remained was connecting them and assembling the array once more, something Aero could handle with ease, despite her lack of formal Communications knowledge.

"How much longer until that thing is up and running, Sergeant?" Vult politely asked of her as she worked. He hadn't a clue as to what did what in the array, all he saw was a series of small electrical components that were intricate as could be. It was impressive at how she worked with such delicacy and speed.

"Not too much longer, Commander," She admitted without looking up as she began soldering pieces together, "Vard fixed most of the sensitive and complicated stuff already, I'm just trying to piece them all together again. He said unless there is some major malfunction he's overlooking, it should work once I get put back together."

"I don't want to rush you or anything, Aero," Vult half-heartily commented, "but the sooner you get it done, the better."

"Of course, Sir, I understand," she commented with a laugh, "but I have to do it right the first time, I'm moving as quickly as time permits."

Vult released a sigh of anxiety over the situation as he blinked blankly.

"You seem to have something on your mind, Sir," Aero commented after she looked up, "something's troubling you…I'll listen if you want to share."

"…It's nothing that you or any of the others should worry yourselves about, Aero."

"Never stopped me from soliciting help or someone just to talk to when I started growing breasts…among other things," She clearly pointed out with a smirk. "Just like you've told us time and time again, it helps to talk about it, so let's hear it."

The Commander adjusted his posture, uncomfortable with the question.

"Look…Commander," Aero finally spoke, retracted, "If you don't want to talk about it-"

"I hate it when my soldiers use my own teachings against me," he chuckled, reverting back to seriousness as his smile faded, "I'll keep it simple, I'd rather not go into details."

"That's perfectly understandable," she answered, continuing to put the components in place on the comm. array. "I picked up enough from the conversation between you and Captain Corr earlier that there is…history that is in question."

Seemed there was no other option than to simply tell her.

"Long before all of this, long before Praxxus 7," Vult began, remembering the events that had transpired, "…I was a younger Irken, fresh out of the Academy, and assigned as replacement for casualties to a unit on Drevin."

"Drevin?" Aero quizzingly asked with a cocked brow, "I've never heard of it before."

"It's a small planet in a backwater system. The Vortians controlled it, a mining facility and colony settled on it, several hundred thousand making up the populous. Long story short, this wasn't too long after Tallest Miyuki and Spork were devoured by some energy monster…blob thing created on Vort, so relations were strained at best between our peoples. The Empire wanted Drevin for the same reason that the Vorts wanted it, so a fight was inevitable. I was assigned to the very same unit that we're going to be working with there as one of the commanding officer's assistants at the rank of Lieutenant."

"So what happened then, Commander?" Aero pressed, intrigued.

"I knew right away there was something wrong with him. I couldn't place my finger on it, but after our first run-in with the Vorts after operations had been declared…I found out quickly. I know to avoid showing compassion to the enemy, but they still deserve respect, as well as mercy….Saro was void of all that. He is no mere Irken in my eyes, but a monster that mimics our visage. I stood idle, horrified as he took enjoyment in the slaughter of innocent civilians, even personally ascending to the task himself. I was forced to watch as he executed children in front of mothers, killed fathers in front of families, and molested women. He knew these things struck fear among many other powerful responses and emotions to give us the "upper hand" as he called it. There was no justification for the acts he committed, in any society of any sentient race of this universe. The images still disturb me to this day, Aero."

She was more than awestruck as she continued to listen, images of what the Commander described dancing through her mind…horrible images of things no one, even the Irken, should see.

"He was my commanding officer, if I spoke out of line, there were terrible consequences. Another Lieutenant did so…he disappeared a couple days later. I'm more than certain Saro killed him for doing so. I followed orders, continuing to force myself into believing that I was in the clear and wasn't responsible for the things he was doing…all because I followed orders. I couldn't take it anymore, after nearly 3 months beneath his command, I mustered the courage to confront him about the sick, cruel, and unusual punishment and treatment of the Vortians he had been encouraging."

"…what happened, Sir?"

"It didn't end as I had hoped," Vult admitted, shaking his head gently, "but he responded in his usual bravado and attacked me with a knife, trying to cut my spooch out for being a "filthy sympathizing traitor". I defended myself…and lost control in the process. I'm not proud of my actions, but this insurmountable rage had built up for this one man, and it all came out at once. With my bare claw…" he trailed off, holding up his left hand, his only remaining natural one, "I shredded into his flesh of his face, got a grip on his left eye…and ripped it from its socket. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased with that, but other soldiers in the unit pulled me off of him before I could finish the job. As for closure on the matter…an investigation determined that I acted in self-defense and was transferred to lead my own unit to prevent conflicts in the future."

"What about Saro though?" Aero asked, unable to believe that someone as composed as the Commander could lose complete control like that.

"After that…I don't know, and I could care less to be honest," Vult stated, more angered at the mentioning of his name than the asking of the question. "I had truly hoped I would never have to see him again in this life or the next."

"So he's the C.O. of AO ten-three then? No wonder why you don't want to work with these guys…"

"Correct, Sergeant," Vult nodded, looking at the comm. array, "please tell me that thing is fixed now. There's a slim chance I can convince Command to call them off and let us work alone."

"I've got everything hooked up how the schematic says, I'm not as good as Vard is at this, Sir," she stated of her own abilities, reaching for the power switch, "but here goes nothing."

She flicked the switch on, the headphones on her head instantly filled with hissing of static. Not white noise, but light, gentle static. A good sign.

With a series of manual twists of knobs and dial adjustments, Aero found the correct frequency as the static completely died out and left nothing but silence, giving a thumbs-up to the Commander. Vult motioned for her to hand him the headset that was removed from Vard's helmet, putting it on his own.

"Command, Commander Vult of Alpha Centauri 00, please respond."

Silence, then a short hiss of static.

"Command here, Alpha Centauri 00," a droll, male voice responded, synonymous with comm. operators that weren't in the field, "where the Irk have you been? Your unit has been out of contact for over 14 hours, why haven't you been transmitting?"

"Our array was malfunctioning," Vult explained clearly, "my comm. technician just finished up repairs. We are still on-mission and a bit behind schedule. We have taken on wounded from moderate Vortian resistance."

"Any casualties?"

"Negative, Command," he responded quickly, "only 2 with minor wounds. Transmitting our positional coordinates now."

"…Coordinates received, Commander," the disembodied voice from the radio informed, "have you established contact with Alpha Omega 13 as of yet?"

"Negative, Command. Regarding that, I am formally declining their assistance on this mission. This is something my unit can easily accomplish on our own."

"You're in no position to do so, Commander," the voice uttered with annoyance, "after have being out of contact for so long, it was believed your unit had been KIA to begin with. Not to mention the fact that you've taken on wounded, your unit is in no condition to go it alone."

"With all due respect," Vult attempted, his teeth grit, "nothing good will come from working with them."

"You're going to have to figure out that solution on your own, Commander. Alpha Omega 13 is already en route and has been in your absence, E.T.A….2 hours at your current location. You are to stay put and await their arrival. Is that clear?"

The Commander said nothing as he ground his teeth in anger.

"Please confirm you received the last transmission, Commander."

"…Understood, Command," Vult finally forced himself to say, "Alpha Centauri 00 out."

He turned the knob to close the channel with Command, disgustingly pushing the array away from him back towards Aero.

"I'm going to say it's safe to assume that they denied your request, didn't they, Sir?" Aero sheepishly questioned.

"That…and they're only about 2 hours away, so even if we tried to leave now and go ahead with the mission, they would catch up." Vult replied, a sigh of annoyance coming forth.

"…what are you going to do then, Commander?"

Vult looked over at her from across the table, his face distraught.

"The only thing I can do, Aero…follow orders and hope the past doesn't rear its ugly head once more. I've tried to forget the matter and leave it where it belongs."

"And Saro?" Aero naively asked, realizing it before she even finished.

"Knowing him…it will be one of the first things he brings up. Sure, soldiers have spats and arguments here and there, Sergeant…but this is by far the worst of blood between two individuals you can think of."


	18. Can't We All Just Get Along?

"Wait a minute…you're not mad at me?" Haxx requested, Volx sitting up with her hands supporting her, Sula redressing the wound once more.

Volx simply narrowed her piercing stare at him. The others were up and about, preparing to move out and continue on-task. Anything resembling a breakfast was tasked upon Rha as he raided the kitchen. Sure, they had rations, but given the choice between a tasteless nutritional supplement and actual food…the choice was quite clear. The Medical Officer gave Vard a clean bill of health, whatever issues he was having prior to rest had cleared up, as with Haxx. Volx seemed to be the only one that was still on the list.

"Oh, I was furious, Sergeant," she admitted in her usual icy tone, but it lightened somewhat, "but…it was noble of you to do what you did to help."

"Well…I'm a bit of screw-up, I'm willing to admit that," he began with a smirk, "but I felt really bad for what happened to you since it was my fault to begin with. I can't make up for it, but I'll at least do my best to rectify it. So…how's it feeling today?"

"Like a plasma bolt from a sniper rifle went through my thigh, Haxx, how else is it supposed to feel?" She chided, retracting slightly realizing how harsh she sounded towards him, "…better, not much, but it's starting to heal. Walking is still out of the question, at least that's what Sula said."

"It's what I told you…Ma'am," she remembered her rank, "I'm not going to force you to listen to me, but I highly suggest you do, your bone hasn't mended completely yet and runs the risk of breaking again or not healing correctly at all if weight is put on it."

"How long until I can? I'm getting tired of feeling useless."

"It will be very tender still," Sula began as she tied off the wrapping once more, reaching for her syringe, "but it should be safe to walk on in about 4 hours if it keeps healing at the rate its going." She finished, gently inserting the needle into Volx's flesh of her thigh.

"I think I can manage that no problem," Haxx announced as he stretched, his back popping a couple times, "I got some sleep and I won't be lugging my gun around all day. That is if you want me to, of course, Lieutenant."

"From what Sula said, you did a fine job yesterday," she grinned, something rare from her, "so I expect the same today, Sergeant."

"Yes, Ma'am," he half-saluted out of humor, thumbing over his shoulder, "right after I get something to eat first, you want some?"

"If you would be so kind to do so," she replied, watching him head over to the kitchen area. Volx turned to Sula as soon as he was out of earshot. "Are sure he's fine? He's acting awfully strange."

She watched out of the corner of her eyes as he attempted to get a second helping of food for Volx, Rha slapping at his hand with the utensil in his hand. Instead of slugging the Corporal as he usually would, he simply seemed to explain, even pointing in Volx's direction. Rha eyed him for a moment before letting him take another plate.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Ma'am."

"I mean he's acting…weird. Being nice and not a complete idiot for once. Does he have a concussion or brain damage or something?"

"The latter is questionable, but there's nothing wrong with him from a medical standpoint," she pointed out with a huff of amusement, "he's been mumbling something about what he discussed with Captain Corr, not entirely sure what exactly, but he has been acting a bit…differently than usual."

"Keep an eye on him," Volx warned, wary of Haxx's intentions, "I'm not convinced he's turned a new leaf from his usual ways. Give it time; we'll see if it's for real or not."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sula politely responded, even though it was more or less the Lieutenant projecting her own thoughts.

The unit finished up with their morning routine, leaving an unwanted disaster of a mess in their wake. Soldiers of the Empire weren't known for their cleanliness in the field, after all, so it came as to no surprise. The early morning suns kept the temperature mild at best, half of the smaller sun still hidden by the horizon as the larger was just above it, a faint, light red glow still present from the reflected light of Praxxus 7 as it hung in the darkened sky yet to give way to daylight. Even if it was the sheer volume of Armada forces and ships on the surface of it causing the change in coloring, it was still pleasing as ambience lighting, bringing with it an odd sense of serenity to the chaos that shrouded Vort at the moment.

The only break in the peaceful environment was the gathering of soldiers themselves, awaiting in defensive positions about the square the apartment complex overlooked.

"Are you sure you don't want me or anyone else to handle the talking, Commander?" Corr cautiously suggested, concerned for his comrade and friend.

"Don't worry about me, Captain," Vult lightly replied, understanding his situation, "I'm as composed as ever, I can't say the same for our compatriot until he arrives. I only hope that he has been able to put the past behind him much like I have tried to do."

"Do you think he has then, Sir?"

"…Highly doubtful, nearly impossible at that," The Commander dryly responded, keeping an eye out. "Please, for the love of Irk, none of you do anything brash if something does happen. I'll handle the situation myself, and if you look at it from a tactical standpoint, we would be outnumbered 10-to-1, outgunned for sure…clear advantages."

A series of "Yes, Sirs" came forth from the 9 Shadow Strikers present in near unison.

"Just keep your heads on straight and keep your antenna up," Vult stated in a lecturing manner. They had heard it time and time before, but it seemed to be the Commander's way of preparing himself for whatever the future was brining.

Even with friendly forces en route, they were still behind enemy lines, and with as far back as the Vorts had been pushed over the night, they were running dangerously close to confronting incoming forces to strengthen the line. The Commander couldn't even imagine the macabre scene that the frontline was producing as Vort and Irken alike literally threw themselves at one another, one in defense, the other to conquer. The nearly-uniform terrain churned up chaotically with potch marks of plasma scoring and craters, entire city blocks leveled, rubble-strewn streets, and instruments of war from both factions littering the landscape from the individual soldier, all the way to the largest of vehicles and machines. Losing ground or not, the Vortians knew they still had the advantage, watching the Irken casualties continue to climb at a much faster rate than their own. Combined with the absolutely astonishing odds the Vortians had in their favor, even with resupply and reinforcements, the Irken were going to exhaust their resources and soldiers long before the Vorts would.

Vult could only imagined the thoughts running through Supreme Commander Grimm's mind on the progress, especially after such a rousing speech that was turning out to be. If not evident enough by now, it would be very soon that he, as well as every single soldier in the field on this rock, was going to find out exactly how determined and how hard the native Vortians were going to fight to keep what was theirs. The Commander, despite his usually complacent nature as a soldier, wanted to throttle those in command of operations and were giving the orders. It was still infuriating at the nonchalant attitude flaunted by the Tallest, even Grimm to a degree, of what the Empire was getting themselves into.

Politics and decisions were much farther above his head, however, and none of his concern. In the meantime, all he could do was assure that those in his unit and himself would make it out alive. The Commander had tempted fate once in this campaign…he dared not again. Risking his own life was one thing, but those of his soldiers and his unit went against all that he created and taught to them, especially for his own sake or personal gain. Remain loyal to yourself, your unit, and the Empire, in that order regarded what was commanded of them and personal beliefs…it didn't cover betrayal of comrades for any reason whatsoever.

"I have a visual, Commander," Tuu calmly spoke over the comm., watching through his rifle's scope. "Irken Elite Guard, a company, give or take a few."

Vult snapped from his thoughts back to what was at stake.

"Understood, Sergeant," he acknowledged, adjusting the zoom on his visor just to make sure before revealing their position.

Sure enough, the tell-tale armor and insignia of the Irken Elite dotted their uniforms. Vult instantly knew Saro had to be in charge, he was the only C.O. he had ever known in his life to do absolutely everything by the book, regardless of what the situation called for. Included was marching in standard formation. This held absolutely no tactical value whatsoever in a warzone, especially behind enemy lines. If anything, it was asking for attention, especially to him at the front, leading them. Vult was surprised that he hadn't gotten himself killed in the Irken Elite Guard by following some protocols.

"Hail them, Vard," Vult lightly ordered as he continued to watch them approach.

"Yes, Sir," The Comm. Technician obeyed, dialing in the correct information into the array. "Alpha Omega 13, this is Alpha Centauri 00, do you read? Please respond."

"AO ten-three responding," another voice quickly answered, "Command already gave us a sitrep on your condition and position, moving to you now."

"Affirmative, AO ten-three," Vard confirmed, "we are approximately…" Vard looked up, using his rangefinder on what was left of his visor, "half a click north-northeast of your location. Continue on the street you're on and you'll run right into us."

"Understood, AC zero-zero…" the comm. operator seemed to pause, "we have visual on your position, AO ten-three out."

Vard closed the comm. link to them, giving Commander Vult a thumbs up. With a nod, Vult picked up his rifle, preparing to stand up.

"Everyone on your feet and keep your eyes peeled. We're still in enemy territory," he announced as he leapt over his cover, "let's go meet our "guests"."

One by one, they followed, appearing from their respective positions of cover to maneuver forward towards the incoming Irken Elite Guard unit. Aero may not have known what this Captain Saro looked like, but it was quite clear who was in charge, and just by looking at him, accompanied by Vult's description of him…there was no denying it.

"Company halt!" Saro's voice boomed in the silence, his soldiers coming to a dead stop at attention as he continued forward, deactivating his battle mask as it lowered and folded into a collar. He snapped to attention, saluting…Aero.

"Irken Elite Guard Company Alpha Omega 13, Captain Saro at your service, Ma'am," he rattled off in regulation form when addressing a taller Irken, presuming her to be the commanding officer of the Shadow Strikers.

Needless to say, she was a bit perplexed, looking to either side, the pointing at herself, lax in stature to begin with. "Me?"

"Yes, Ma'am, you're the C.O. of this Spec Ops unit, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, no, no," she nervously laughed, pointing to Vult as he approached to join her, "he's in charge."

"…but he's shorter than you." Saro concluded, finding it strange to say the least, "you're the tallest one present, Ma'am, why aren't you in command?"

"Because, Captain," Vult interrupted as he deactivated his visor and mask, revealing his face. "That's how I do things in my unit."

Saro was quite…astonished to see Vult again, especially the odds of it happening again were slim to none.

"Well, well, well…what do we have here?" He began with faux amusement, a big grin that bore a crooked smile. "Of all the Speckies in the entire Armada in the universe, I get paired up with the likes of you…what are the chances?" Saro chuckled, quickly reverting into a hardened, unamused stare. "Vult…I am very, very depressed that you're still alive."

"I'm not thrilled about our joint venture either," Vult admitted, remaining as respectful as possible, "but Command has deemed it necessary to do so. Just follow our respective orders and everyone will get along just f-"

"So this is your unit, you're in charge of this outfit?" The Irken Captain almost jested, laughing to himself. "You've got her calling you "Sir"?" He pointed to Aero, continuing to chuckle to himself, "let me guess…that one is your second-in-command, am I right?" Saro added, referring to Vard. The Comm. Technician simply looked bewildered amongst his comrades, finding it wise just to stay out of the mess all together.

However, Corr remained silent, but it was quite insulting for Saro to not even recognize his rank, especially since they were of the same rank to begin with and was, in fact, taller than Saro. He couldn't even begin to imagine the rage that the Commander was suppressing for such a ravenous display of disrespect from a less-than-ideal officer.

"As much as you find it amusing, Captain," Vult remained vigilant, "yes, all of these soldiers are beneath my command, regardless of height, and follow rank in the traditional sense."

"I don't even want to know what kind of mutinous stunt you've pulled to gain control here, especially a lowly Lieutenant like yourself."

"It's _Commander _to you, Captain," Vult made abundantly clear, seeming to only raise another renewed laugh from Saro. His blood was boiling, but he did all he could remained in control. Part of him wished to make an example of leadership material and the discipline it took to lead troops…the other half wanted to rip Saro limb from limb.

"What is that, a self-promotion? Who in their right mind would willingly give you that rank? What are they..stupid?"

"_They _would be the Almighty Tallest themselves." He replied to Saro's annoying degradation, watching as his laughter died nearly instantly at that statement. He always was a bit of a suck-up when it came to mentioning the Tallest, which was odd considering that he had never actually met them before. "Are you quite finished?"

"You do know you can report him for being mentally unstable, don't you, Ma'am?" Saro completely ignored Vult, speaking to Aero. She nervously looked over at the Commander, whose visage seem to grow more and more distraught in the time spent in this Irken Elite Captain's presence. Saro's amused gaze retracted to one of suspicion. "wait…there's something…off about you."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Captain," Aero respectfully answered, what was in question about her person was painfully obvious in her physique, leaning back as Saro stood on the tips of his toes, rubbing his chin, studying her.

"...you're defective, aren't you? I'm not taking orders from a defective."

"Umm…" Aero attempted to stall, unsure of how to answer.

"Saro, can I talk to you for a moment," Vult managed through grit teeth, his sheer anger at the boiling point, "…in private?"

Saro continued to eye Aero, turning slightly while he still looked at her.

"Of course, _Commander_," his voice dripped of sarcasm, "I'll humor you."

Vult led him away from his own soldiers and out of antenna-shot of his men at attention still, but still within view.

"I'm going to be brief, Saro," Vult began in a hushed, yet agitated tone, "I know you hate me, that much is clear, but don't you dare start disrespecting my soldiers like that, especially in front of me and your own men. It's degrading."

"You think I'm going to take orders from the likes of you or your ragtag bunch of…defective, smeet-brained, spoiled soldiers and their Vort-sympathizing traitor of a commanding officer…you've suffered brain damage since we last spoke, too much shell-shock perhaps?"

Vult latched onto his uniform and jerked him within inches of his own face. Only mere inches taller than Vult, their sizes were about the same. Saro was more than surprised by this display and was caught off guard.

"You listen, and you listen good, Captain," Vult snarled lowly in a tone that demanded attention from the disrespectful Irken, "I'm not one for threats, as we both know quite well, Saro, but you're pushing it, and we wouldn't want any…accidents to happen, now would we?"

Saro broke Vult's hold on his uniform, shoving him off of him. For once, Vult was surprised the Captain didn't retaliate with a punch or some other form of violence. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he used to be…then again, maybe Zim managed to grow a brain and not act like a complete moron. The chances were non-existent.

"You got lucky once, Vult," he made clear, the result of that so-called "luck" as evident as ever in the cybernetic left eye and ripped scars in his flesh around it. He studied his uniform, straightening it out where Vult had it balled up in his artificial hand. "Don't confuse it with skill. Speckies or not, you don't have the firepower to silence us all. Even if you did, you're soft, Vult, you don't have the spooch to give such an order. I'm surprised you're in charge of anything after the bleeding heart you had on Drevin, especially for horned filth such as the Vortians."

The facts, despite being classified, seemed to be the only thing that was going to get Saro to pull his head out of his _c'hurta_.

"My unit alone softened up Praxxus 7 so you and your precious Elite Guard would have a place to call "home" while assaulting Vort," Vult matter-of-factly informed, pressing his metallic finger into Saro's chest as he spoke, "we're not Spec Ops, we are the Almighty Tallests' personal tool of destruction. We make problems go away…I suggest that you don't become a problem, Captain, lest you want to become just another statistic."

Saro simply chuckled.

"Looks like someone's sure manned up since I last saw them," he sarcastically answered, playing the Commander's seriousness off as if it was nothing, "whatever pleases you and the "Almighty Tallest" it is. It works both ways, I'll lay off your soldiers…only if you don't start trying to boss my boys around. Unlike your unit off in make-believe land, we do things by the book, not some made up system of rules."

"That's fine, I will respect that," Vult nodded to placate Saro, putting his hand forward, "then we've reached an agreement, yes?"

"…if you think I'm shaking your hand, you must be crazy," Saro scathed as he turned his back to him, "the past may be so easy for you to forget and put behind you, but I'm the one that carries a little memento of what happen…you disgust me."

Vult left it at that as Saro continued back towards his own soldiers, knowing anymore said on the matter of their past encounter would only dredge it up and ultimately lead to physical conflict. Displeased in general, Vult activated his helmet once more, returning to his own soldiers.

"By the way he left, Sir, I'm going to safely assume all is not well?" Corr stated the obvious.

"Just form up and follow, we're taking point," Vult ordered in disgust, catching Corr and the others for that matter, completely off guard with a tone that they rarely heard from him. They could feel the darkness building within their beloved Commander, all because of a demon of his past reared his ugly head once more. To not invoke the misplaced wrath that was brewing, the Shadow Strikers obeyed, taking up their usual patrol formation a couple hundred meters ahead of Saro's company.

"How is that guy not defective?" Haxx commented over their internal comm. link, outside the channel that the two units were operating on. "I've never seen such a…rabid display of disrespect and…dookie-headedness."

"…I'm afraid I have to agree with Haxx on this one…as strange as it sounds," Volx chimed in as she was on Haxx's back, rifle in hands, surprising a few of them that she actually agreed with him for once.

"Me? You're agreeing with me?" Haxx acted surprised, only to see an unamused stare looking back at him over his shoulder. "Sure you're not still drugged up?"

"Don't push your luck, Sergeant."

"…yes, Ma'am."

"From what the Commander told me," Aero added to the conversation, wary of her words, "he's rather sick and sadistic. I know we're soldiers and all, but it sounds as if he takes it too far…and enjoys it."

"All of you, knock the chatter off," Corr ordered sternly, their eyes all darting forward at him as he looked over his shoulder at them, "did you forget we're still on mission? Keep the comm. channel clear. Last thing we need is all of you clogging it up with nonsense and we come under fire, unable to give orders. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Captain," they all responded in unison, the slightest changes in tone noticeable by one another. Just from Corr's order alone, they could tell he meant business and it was for the sake of the Commander, especially since he could hear everything that they said. Regardless of him already knowing the truth of the matter, mentioning or repeating any of it didn't help any whatsoever.

"Going silent," Vult announced, activating his cloaking, disappearing from view. The others followed suit. He opened up the comm. channel with Saro's unit, "before you start freaking out, Captain, we're still ahead of you."

"Hiding from view so we can get picked off? I feel oh so lucky, nice to see you care about our well-being and all. You going to make yourself known before or after we're all dead?"

"I'd rather leave you for the vultures, Saro, but that's beside the point," Vult quipped, closing the channel before the Elite Guard Captain had anything to retaliate with. "_Ikveda murata vordento_…" he trailed off under his breath, his own unit hearing the swear. It was surprising to hear such language from Vult, even under fire, his words remained clean.

Anger was one thing that the Commander was often quite skilled at hiding or at least suppressing in presence of his soldiers, but there was something different about what they were seeing from him. This wasn't just the dislike of another soldier, this was far deeper and much, much darker.

No…this was a rage that had sat dormant for years that was returning to the surface once more, the intense hatred for a fellow Irken that was far from exemplary and cruel, even by their standards. It could be felt that Captain Saro was nearly a polar opposite to Vult in terms of leadership style, as well as personal conduct on how one presented themselves in a time of war. As much as he attempted to reason with the "monster" he described to Aero, it was to no avail.

There was no reasoning, only a bloodlust and sadist nature that had an innate need to be satisfied, one way or another. She looked over her shoulder behind them. Even at a distance, she could see the intense stare that Saro possessed eyes full of hatred, void of compassion. The kind that someone who was impartial to life and the concept of death…she initially thought the Commander was over-exaggerating.

She couldn't have been anymore wrong.

Even as the Empire's finest examples, she and her comrades could only hope this mission would come to an end soon and no longer have to deal with the likes of Captain Saro.

Battles weren't just won and lost in the physical sense, the darkness on the horizon was something they were going to be locked in contention with for the remainder of their days and sanity seemed to be the most crucial prize at stake. War hardened soldiers over time, desensitizing them to what normally shocked and appalled those who had not partaken…nothing could prepare them for the coming maelstrom they were to brave.


	19. A Soldier's Lament

"Haxx! Get to cover, NOW!" Corr bellowed over the firefight, pulling a stumbling Rha to safety as several plasma rounds splashed against the concrete pillar he was using as cover. The Sergeant dove behind another pillar to the building's front, sliding on his stomach with Volx still on his back.

Command informed them of enemy activity in the area en route to the manufacturing facility. It was to be expected, especially with the Irken army closing in on it, of course they would reinforce the sector to stall the advance or hopefully turn it back. The point was moot to those locked in battle at the moment, however, as both Vult and Saro's forces came under immediate fire from at least a company's worth of Vortian regulars, possibly more, and not one, but 3 APC, as well as Rail Tanks.

If the outpouring of resistance wasn't enough as it was, one Rail Tank was bad enough, but a pair could easily demolish a sizeable infantry unit in no time. They were more angular than the Irken Plasma Battle Tank equivalent, sporting a pair of large-caliber rail cannons that launched magnetized slugs of hyper-dense metal at supersonic speed. If those weren't imposing enough, the plasma rotary cannon in the center between the two kept anything on foot at bay. Upon impact, the energy transfer replaced the need for traditional explosive charge. Even if any of them possessed anti-armor weaponry, the sheer volume of small arms fire made it nearly impossible to expose even a single inch of supple flesh without having it blown off.

The Shadow Strikers were accounted for, but worse off than Saro's unit. The Irken Elite company had suffered minor casualties from the initial ambush, but still had an escape route unlike the 10 Spec Ops soldiers. Enemy forces had closed in around them for being the forward point of the advancing patrol and had them completely surrounded. The only thing stopping them from completely vaporizing them was the fact that the Vortians were very concerned with keeping the infrastructure intact if possible.

Last thing they needed was to rebuild a destroyed civilization, as well as turn back an invading army.

"I knew it! I told you so!" Haxx went on and on over the comm. channel, flooding it with his loud, annoying voice, "we always work alone, the one time we get partnered up with anyone, BAM! Half the _ikveda _Vortian army comes down on us in a split second!"

"Shut your mouth, Haxx!" Corr ordered over the fray, turning his attention back to returning fire, "Commander, we have to get out of here! They've got nearly every advantage, we'll die trying to fight it out!"

"Put that in a memo and title it "Things I already know", Captain!" Vult responded without ire, taking note of the situation as he grabbed Vard by the shoulder to get his attention. "Has Saro secured us an escape route yet?"

"Negative, Sir!" Vard exclaimed, pressing the headset to his ear where his helmet was missing. The Commander keyed his own comm. to Saro's channel through Vard's array.

"Where are you at, Saro? We need assistance, ASAP!"

Sounds of weapons exchanging fire filtered through the radio from the other end.

"My hands are a little full at the moment as well," he calmly replied, more amused at Vult's predicament, "If you're the Tallests' "personal tool of destruction"…why can't you fight them off yourself? Not as skilled as we said we were, are we? It's just a few tanks and a couple hundred soldiers."

"This is no time for this, Captain," Vult snapped, incoming fire coming dangerously close, "if you don't open up a hole between us for us to withdraw, they're going to close in on us a-"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," Saro nonchalantly interrupted, his attitude more than infuriating, "we're taking care of it, just give me a few minutes."

"Uhh….Commander?" Corr cautiously spoke, pointing out from his cover as he looked. Vult's eyes went to the point of interest the Captain motioned to. "You might want to take a look at this."

"Oh…Irk," the Commander wearily commented at the sight. It was the absolute LAST thing any of them needed at that point.

Hovering just beyond the pair of Rail Tanks were two Vortian air units. Once again, a bit more angular than the Irken's style of design, but it heavily resembled a Voot Runner. Only difference was these were laden with armor and armed to the teeth with anti-infantry and armor ordnance.

By their positioning and altitude, they were gearing up for a gun-run on their position.

Corr, Haxx, Volx, and Rem seemed to be somewhat safe behind the pillars of the building's façade, but the others had no cover whatsoever overhead, only a traffic jam's worth of civilian speeders and newly-created impact craters from the Rail Tanks firing on them. It was a miracle thus far that no one had even been injured, nothing past a few close calls. Even so, close calls were still too close for comfort.

"We don't have a few minutes! I have visual on 2 air units, targeting our position!"

"If you want to run towards that line of Vorts between us, be my guest," Saro offered with amusement, "I may enjoy putting them down, but even that takes some time."

Vult angrily cut the feed between him and Saro, turning and looking to check the status of his unit.

"Everyone still with me?"

All 9 responded to his request.

"Good, on your feet, we're getting out of here."

"Where exactly are we going to go in this outpouring of resistance?" Haxx challenged, ducking back in as plasma splashed around his cover.

"Anywhere but here, Sergeant," Vult assured, looking around for any direction that may prove their survival yet, "lucky for us, they're worried about leveling their own buildings. We stick to them as cover and move quickly, we'll put some distance between us-" he explained, interrupted as a round from one of the Rail Tanks exploded far too close than he wished in the roadway. "…and them."

"May I make a suggestion, Commander?" Rha garnered his attention, with a nod, he proceeded, "Being outnumbered is never a problem with us, it's that armor. If she's up for it, Aero and I can make that go away…with covering fire from the rest of you, that is."

The Corporal glanced over at her.

"I'll do it…that should pull enough heat off of us to make a break for it." Aero added, checking her belt for the necessary tools. "Not only as a distraction, but I finally get to smash things," she finished with a manic tone.

Ignoring her unusually placed eagerness in destruction, the Commander lulled the idea over in his head. It came with great risk, but nothing was ever easy for them, it was just part of their everyday lives.

"Alright, Rha, Aero," Vult began giving orders over the sounds of battle, "do your thing, keep tracking us on our visors and regroup when you're done. The rest of you, secure your kit, strap down anything that moves…we're going for a short jog."

"You've got to be kidding…Sir!" Haxx contested from his cover, kicking a live grenade away just in time before it detonated.

"I've never led any of you astray yet, don't lose faith in me now," the Commander responded without force, turning to Rem, watching her furiously work over her holographic projection from her forearm. "Got a route planned for us out of here, Navigator?"

"Yes, Sir," She announced, closing the plate on her arm, the projection disappearing from sight, "sending waypoints to everyone's comm. link….done, awaiting orders, Commander."

"Corr, Tuu," Vult began, his hand motioning towards the opposition, "pop smoke, everyone get ready to book it. Stay behind me and don't stop."

The two soldiers retrieved the necessary grenades from their belts, pulling the safety pins, and released the levers, igniting the fuse within. The others secured their weapons and pouches to not lose any gear on the move.

"Smoke out!" The both almost announced in unison as they tossed the ordnance towards the Vortian line, watching them bound along the road surface to within several meters of the line, just as planned.

No sooner than the grenades rolled to stop and begin putting up a wall of thick, white smoke that hung heavy in the air, blocking their view, the unit sprung to life like clockwork. Aero and Rha activated their camouflage as they ran across the open street in flanking maneuver to the two Rail Tanks. At the same time, Vult and the remainder of his unit were on their feet and making a quick exit for a nearby alley as plasma chased them from stray, frantic shots as the Vortians were unable to see them.

"What about the Irken Elite company, Commander?" Corr asked as they continued through the winding corridor the back allies created, hoping that none of the Vortian regulars saw their escape. In fact, unless his antenna were tricking him, it sounded as if the fire had died down somewhat.

"They're not of our concern, Captain," Vult made clear, surprising him, "we have our orders, they fall behind, they stay behind."

"…Y-yes, Sir," Corr managed, shaking the shock from his thoughts at the sheer disregard for their well-being he just witnessed from the one of the more compassionate soldiers he had worked with. It finally got through exactly how much Vult despised Saro. As far as he could tell…the feeling was mutual.

As the majority of the unit continued to press forward, Aero and Rha were committed to sneaking within contention of the Vortian armor present.

"This is almost too easy," she thought to herself as she remained alert with rifle in hand.

With their attention and detection equipment focused on the Irken Elite, sneaking around with cloaking active was interesting to say the least. She was literally walking within mere inches of Vortian soldiers who were scrambling about their positions, trying to keep the enemy suppressed and move in for the kill. A combination of fevered attempts to kill the opposing Irken in sight, as well as confusion at the thick blanket of smoke enveloping the area and the combatants that seemed to disappear.

Intently focused, she could still see the incredible resemblance between them and soldiers of the Armada. They too were driven by duty, steeled by fear to protect what they held dear, and refused to back down to any foe. The only factors that separated them on the surface was one was the oppressor, the other the defender. One fought for glory…the other for survival. Different viewpoints…yet all one in the same as war raged on the world. It didn't matter who was Irken or Vortian, they all bled and felt pain equally. A slight tinge of sympathy coursed through Aero's mind, quickly blocked out once more as she remained on task.

With superb dexterity, she leapt onto the Rail Tank from the rear, climbing the rest of the way to the top of the turret to avoid detection and making any unnecessary sound. The twin rail cannons fired again, rounds breaking the sound barrier at the muzzle of the guns, and nearly toppling Aero off in her fright from the suddenness of it. Ignoring her ringing antenna, she knelt down, inspecting the top hatch in the center of the turret.

"Hmm…sealed up nice and tight," she commented, fishing around in her belt as her other hand felt around the rim of it, stopping as she found what she was looking for. "Bingo."

Aero lifted a small plate next to the sealed hatch, revealing a small hole. Quickly drawing the correct tool, she forced a small crank into the hole and began turning it furiously. "Good ole' emergency release…"

The hatch gently vented as the pressure equalized and opened slightly. Not wasting any time or her element of surprise, she primed a grenade, dropping it down through the hatch, then closing it shut. "Knock, knock, boys."

No sooner than she closed the hatch, the rear door to the vehicle flung open, a trio of Vorts scrambling for safety out of it, their panicked yelling of the very grenade that she had dropped in on them. They weren't the only ones surprised.

"Huh…that's odd," she commented as she opened the hatch, dropping down into the vehicle herself. "Ah, there it is," Aero added, picking the armed device up, tossing it out the open rear hatch, "guess it was a dud."

An explosion rocked the vehicle from outside, bits of debris sprinkling off of the tank's hull. Without a word, she closed the rear hatch, sealing herself inside the vehicle.

"…or not," She stated, caught off-guard by it and a bit wide-eyed at how close she came to being blown up by her own grenade. Shaking the images from her mind, she promptly went to work.

"Aero, you alright?" Rha's voice came through her radio, "that was a bit close to you over there."

"Just fine," she replied, quickly removing an access panel to the vehicle's controls with great speed, "how things coming along on your end?"

"Almost…done, just making a few…adjustmen-"

"RT-22-0, why have you stopped engaging the enemy?" The vehicle's radio chatter cut in, surprising her, "please confirm, over."

A quick tweak of her own radio to mask her voice, deepen it to that of a male's, she picked up the headset, clearing her throat.

"…RT-22-0 responding," Aero talked lowly, attempting to replicate the Vortian radio conduct, "we're experiencing…technical difficulties, standby."

She ripped the comm. box from under the control panel, tossing it behind her like the nuisance it was.

"These are very similar to Plasma Battle Tanks, so the control processor…should…be," she spoke out loud, rummaging around inside the access panel, forcing bundles of wires and cables out of her way, searching for the metaphorical "brain" of the vehicle, "there it is," Aero finished, her hand resting on the box bolted up underneath.

In the similar fashion that she had gotten in trouble for making "unscheduled adjustments" to vehicles in the motor pool in her Irken Elite days, Aero stripped the bolts holding it in place with a sharp jerk, pulling it out of the access hatch with all the connections all still in place.

"I'm done setting the charge, Aero, what's taking so long?" Rha questioned of her, his mind occupied with finding where the rest of their unit had gone and regrouping with them.

"As much as I hate their commanding officer," Aero answered as she worked, making lightning-fast changes with finesse, "I'm going to take some of the heat off of that unit. I got to disable the Friend-Or-Foe identification, I can't fire on them with their own kit."

"Well make it quick, the less time spent here and away from the others, the better. Just let me know when to knock this other one out."

"Roger that," Aero answered, clicking the last connector in place with a devious smile. She hopped into the gunner's seat, grasping both control sticks, "time to wreak some havoc."

"Warning…FoF Identifier is offline, friendly forces can be targeted," the computer spoke as Aero disengaged the safeties on the weapons, spooling up the plasma rotary cannon as she maneuvered the turret into position.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," She responded, the crosshairs on screen zeroing in, projecting the path in which she wanted to move the turret as she prepared to fire, maximizing the number of soldiers she was going to kill in one pass, "That's exactly what I want. Rha?"

"Yeah?"

"Hit it."

"Affirmative," he answered without hesitation, looking over from the building corner he was using as cover at the Rail Tank he planted the charge on, holding up the detonator in his hand, and gave the trigger a squeeze.

The armored hull of the Rail Tank erupted in a bright blue fireball of plasma as the charge enveloped it. Shrapnel from the vehicle sliced through the air at blinding speed in all directions as a plume of smoke roiled into the air. The majority of the Vortian soldiers firing on Saro's unit spun around in surprise at the vehicle's destruction…and to see the other one targeting their positions.

Aero depressed the trigger on the spooled-up plasma rotary cannon, unleashing a seemingly-unending torrent. The near beam of plasma cut across and through the infantry, hundreds of rounds as the seconds passed. The scene was pure carnage as riddled bodies and remnants fell in smoldering piles, the vehicles they were using as cover ablaze as the powerful rounds ripped through flesh as if it were nothing. Those left standing after the quick pass over were still shocked at what had happened, trying to regain their bearings.

She instinctively ducked in surprise as the three turrets of the APCs all turned on the Rail Tank, dozens of rounds skittering off of its hull. They may not have had powerful weapons, but still stood a chance of inflicting damage with enough concentrated fire.

"Try this on for size," she commented as she targeted two of the three with the main weapons, both railguns adjusting to the correct flight path.

The weapons fired, nowhere near as loud as it was when she stood atop the turret, but presence was made known by them as the interior of the vehicle rattled violently beneath the stress. Her eyes remained fixated as she watched both targeted APCs violently explode as the rounds impacted. She couldn't help but feel elated after dealing such a devastating blow and turning the tide of battle in a matter of seconds.

"Aero, get out of there NOW!" Rha's voice desperately yelled over the radio, snapping her back to reality from revile in her triumph. "Those birds are targeting your position!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," she replied as she hopped out of the gunner's seat, grabbing hold of the control box, and ripping it free of its wiring harness to ensure it couldn't be used for the time being after abandonment. She quickly spun the hatch valve, throwing the door open, and hopping out in cloaked form, running as fast as her legs would carry her away from the Rail Tank.

She didn't even have time to look back as the vehicle was decimated by a quartet of guided rockets, the shockwave from the explosion knocking her off of her feet and into a roll, going over the edge of the street and into a drainage duct with rather steep, smooth edges. Aero managed to sprawl out into a slide from the dizzying roll, but with nothing to grab to slow her descent, she was along for the ride.

"This isn't going to end well," was the last thing she thought before finding her way to the bottom, going into a little drop before crashing into the lowered edge of the empty causeway. The blinding pain was more than enough to let her know something was wrong, but the sickening sound of crushing bone on impact didn't help matters any.

"Aero? Aero?! You alright, where are you?" Rha's voice frantically questioned. The words didn't fall on deaf ears, but it was rather difficult to breath, let alone talk at the moment for her.

"I…I'm d-down," she managed, coughing as her claw clutched at her side that impacted, gauging the damage. Feeling fragmented bone and retracting her hand, seeing a bit of her own blood on her fingers, Aero simply forced herself to roll onto her back to alleviate the pressure. "C-come to my position…I'm hurt."

"I'm on my way, how bad is it?"

"J…Just some broken ribs, don't know…how many are through the skin, m-maybe a punctured organ or two. Not bleeding…too bad, j-just hurts like…Irk." Aero forced herself to respond, gritting her teeth as she drew breath. She forced herself to smile, despite the damage taken from the fall, proud of her work.

"I'm willing to take a few broken ribs over getting shot any day of the week," she thought, "at least I know I saved a few fellow soldiers for my efforts. I just hope Sula can put me back together, the sooner the better."

As she awaited Rha's assistance, the remainder of the unit continued pressing forward through the tight spaces of artificial canyons created by the many buildings, navigating the alleyways with great haste. Putting as much distance between them and the Vortian regulars was the highest priority, especially with the odds heavily stacked against them. Vult never intended for a unit that could stand toe-to-toe and fight the enemy head-on in open combat, so using them as such was a disaster waiting to happen. As much as Saro wanted to think they ran away like cowards, it was quite different from that.

"Hold," the Commander ordered, his hand giving the signal as well, "what's Aero and Rha's status?" He added, turning to Vard.

He paused momentarily as he listened intently into his headphones of his helmet.

"…understood, Vard out," he finished, turning to Vult, "they knocked that armor out, save for one APC, Commander, but Aero's hurt."

"What's her condition?"

"Rha said they're both on the move to us, but she's got some broken ribs from a nasty fall down a drainage canal. Other than that, they're both okay, should link up with us in a few minutes."

Vult nodded, turning to Sula, "You heard that, right?"

"Yes, Sir," she answered with a nod, "nothing I can't handle from the sounds of it. I just need somewhere I've got some room to work and I don't have to worry about getting shot."

"Got a solution for me, Navigator?" Vult asked of Rem, glancing down at the power reading of his rifle out of habit. Just like in his Irken Elite Guard days, last thing he wanted was to be unprepared to engage the enemy.

"Working on it, Commander," Rem admitted with a sigh, frustrated, "I'm getting a lot of interference in the area, I can't scan these structures to find out what's on the inside, I don't know what's occupied and what isn't since we're pushing into populated areas."

"Guess we'll have to find out the old-fashioned way then, won't we?" Vult commented, standing from his kneeling position. "If any of them are still alive, we have to regroup with Saro's unit, so we wait for them as well…regretfully."

Vult stood from his kneeling position once more, studying their surroundings, caution proved most valuable in such trying times, especially in close proximity of enemy forces

"Keep your wits about you," Vult commented, trying to remain optimistic "this isn't anything that we aren't prepared for. We've trained day in, day out for situations just like this. We are the best of the best, we are the Shadow Strikers-"

"-We need no one but ourselves," the unit responded in unison without hesitation.

"Good to see the spirits aren't broken," Vult thought, looking down the alley they were in to see the two missing members, Rha struggling to hold the larger Aero, her arm draped over his shoulder, her other clutching at her side. She let out a cry of pain as her legs went out, nearly taking Rha down with her, Sula rushing to their side to help carry her.

"Be…gentle," Aero manages through grit teeth at Rha, finding it to be a chore just to breath, let alone move, her uniform sticking to her body from the blood soaked into it.

"Easy does it," the Medical Officer commented, hoisting her up with Rha, sharing the weight of Aero between them much easier than him alone. As they aided her in walking, Sula studied Aero's side, the uniform clear of any punctures, but her side was damp and held the tale-tell scent of fresh Irken blood, frowning at it from beneath her mask. "Commander, I've got to find somewhere to work ASAP, she's hurt pretty bad."

The Commander turns to Rem once more.

"…anytime today, Navigator," Vult announced once more, annoyed. Not so much directed at her, but things in their line of work never seemed to be easy.

With a sigh of relief, Rem closes her forearm plate once more.

"Took a little longer than I hoped, but I managed to get a break in the interference, Sir. Course is plotted and ready to move on your order." She adds with a proud smirk at her abilities behind her mask.

"Alright, no need to waste anymore time then," he commented with a hint of relief of his own, motioning for them to get ready, "time to move it out, sooner we get this over with, the quicker we'll be on our way to some well-deserved rest."

The journey behind enemy lines thus far had been trying to say the least, but it would have been unreal to think any less of how daunting a task it was going to be. They took solstice in the fact that they, a mere squad of 10 was able to accomplish what Elite Guard units of 100, even more, could not.

In the short time they had been involved in the Vort campaign, they had rectified the embarrassing defeat at Praxxus 7, allowing the main Armada fleet led by Supreme Commander Grimm to easily eliminate any threat presented on the Vortian moon, using it as a staging ground. No sooner than a base of operations had been established for the campaign, they were tasked with clearing out any hostile forces within the vicinity of where the Empire wanted to put forces planetside.

Weary and battered…Vult and his unit…his brothers and sisters in arms, they pressed forward, tasked with aiding the Empire they serve in yet another hour of need, to aid those that do not know who they are or what they do, a figment, even a myth that spreads throughout the Armada. If they only knew the dire reality of what these ten soldiers faced on a daily basis…all to keep the "mighty" Irken Empire afloat…a regime that was in reality on the teetering edge of total collapse if not for the work that the Shadow Strikers and others do behind the scenes to prevent such chaos from ever happening.

The first attempt on Praxxus 7 was an early indicator to the stability and health of the Empire, even without Zim's interference, the casualties would have been staggering and more than likely…they wouldn't have made much more progress than what was already achieved thus far in a long a grueling struggle.

The methods and politics mattered not to the common soldiers. There were no reasons or gains sought out from a soldier, one whose life was conscripted from the very start for service in such a vicious cycle that Irken made their existence…slaves to themselves. The only positive thing that had to really look to at the end of the day was making it through yet another and hoping to do the same for the next.

Vult refused to speak his mind on how he truly felt about the Empire, regardless of what power he wielded within his own unit, knowing it was signing a death warrant if the wrong individual heard such heresy against the Tallest and their regime. Having such leeway and no one hovering over them in command allowed for leniency in free will and thought. As much as he didn't want to think about it, if the Tallest ever disbanded their unit or were no longer needed…he couldn't go back to the regular ranks…not after having the experience to think and decide for himself without command or manipulation.

A free mind was a dangerous one to their people it seemed…and was marked as a target for deactivation with the excuse of being defective for not fitting to the mold. If that held true…at this point, he wouldn't mind being considered defective instead of a mindless slave.

"Commander…Commander Vult," Rem gently shook his arm, trying to get his attention, "Sir…Sir, are you alright?"

He shook his head, clearing his mind for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Rem, what did you say?"

"…you okay, Sir? You spaced out there for a moment," she cautiously informed, not wanting to anger him. "I asked you where to now, Sir…we seem to run into a bit of a problem."

She points, realizing they are at edge of the narrow alleyway, leading to surface streets once more…a wide, open one at that, a complete lack of cars or anything at all to use as suitable cover in between. If it was one thing that was drilled into their heads, it was avoiding "kill zones" just like this.

"Any way around this at all, Navigator?"

She sighs, reluctant to speak.

"…no, Sir, no courses under via sewage or drainage pipes, this roadway stretches for several clicks either direction, easily put us several more hours behind schedule trying to find a more suitable route in terms of cover…not a lot of options to be honest, Commander."

"I'm not sure how far behind us those Vort forces are or if there are any surprises waiting for us her, Sir…but I don't like this, I'd rather be late than never if you catch my drift," Haxx spoke up.

Corr shot him a glance that would freeze even Sirius Minor over.

"Could you possibly be any more pessimistic?" Volx seethed from her position on his back, leaning forward with her arms draped over his shoulders, holding her rifle in front of him.

"Well…no one else was going to say it, I might as w-"

"Stow it, Sergeant," Corr ordered, drawing his hand laterally across his throat, motioning for it as well.

"…yes, Sir," the weaponless soldier sighed, adjusting Volx's weight on his back.

"As much as I agree with you, Sergeant," Vult commented, poking his head out slightly to study the surroundings down either direction of the roadway. "…Command is already pushing us along as it is, last thing I want is Grimm or anyone else higher up breathing down our necks because we're taking too long, despite the situation…we don't have much of a choice."

"Commander, with all due respect," Haxx spoke up again, despite Corr's orders, "we're far off worse than we were before linking up with those Elite Guard, Aero's hurt, I still don't have a weapon, Volx can't walk on her own yet, and we're so far behind enemy lines, we've got Vorts crawling out our _c'hurtas_…instincts, a hunch, feeling in my spooch…whatever you want to call it…I don't like this at all."

"…you don't think I don't know that, Haxx?" Vult made clear, looking directly at him. "When has anything ever been easy, hmm? Never…things are never easy for us, that's why this job isn't for everyone, it's why we do it alone. You realize how many regular soldiers, even if they were the Honor Guard, it would take to do what we do? Hundreds…even thousands possibly." He pauses, sighing, understanding where he's coming from completely. "…we've all got to do things we don't like…it's part of it. I sure as Irk don't like giving the order to advance across open ground, especially with forces in the area…but we haven't much else of a choice."

He looks once more, still hesitant.

"That building across the roadway can provide some protection with the pillared façade," Vult motions, pointing, looking amongst his soldiers, "…Tuu…front and center."

"Yes, Commander?" He requested, kneeling beside him at the opening of the alley.

"I want you to book it over there and keep a sharp eye out for any surprises, cover those coming across. Cloaked or not, they've got tech that they can detect us with, so don't rely on it, just run."

"Got it, Sir," the sniper nodded, bracing himself to take off running, "…just give the order."

With a wave of his finger, Tuu began sprinting across the open ground, activating his cloak before he broke into sight from the alleyway from any prying eyes. His feet pounded the pavement as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, sliding to a halt and taking cover behind one of the pillars, looking in either direction for a moment.

"All clear, Commander, providing cover."

"Affirmative," Vult replied, looking to the next up, "…Corr, Vard, you're up."

The pair took off, Corr arrive well before the much smaller Vard, but safely.

"So far, so good," Vult thought, looking to Haxx. "I need as many eyes keeping a lookout for anything over there as possible before I send Aero over…think you can do it with her on your back?"

A confident smirk came forth, able to be heard in his voice.

"Nothing I can't handle, Sir," Haxx assured, gripping her legs a little tighter to not drop her, "…ready?"

"Ready when you are, Sergeant" Volx responded with sigh, still hating the fact that she had to be carted around like some helpless smeet.

The Heavy Weapons Sergeant started running, considerably slower than he was capable of, but still impressive carrying the full weight of Lieutenant Volx on his back. He managed to trip on his own feet only a short distance away, landing on his face, the force compounded by Volx's weight.

"…owww," Haxx groaned, stirring to get to his feet once more, hobbling the rest of the way in a daze.

"Real smooth," Volx commented, unamused.

Vult tried his best not to huff in amusement at the sight, turning back to the remaining three, Aero in as much pain as ever, Sula giving her a quick fix by wrapping bandages tightly around her midsection, just to stop the bleeding, her ribs still broken and ailing her. "You three ready to move?"

"As much…as I'll ever be," Aero managed, giving Vult a thumb up the best she could.

He nods in, turning to where the rest of the unit is waiting.

"We're coming across, keep your eyes peeled."

"Understood, Commander," Corr responded, wary of their surroundings. It was dangerous enough crossing open ground, but 4 of them were going to be huddled together, one wounded…if training had showed anything, that was as prime as a target was going to be with the circumstances.

"Nice and slow, Rha," Sula reminded, knowing each step had to be aggravating her wound, "don't jar her around too much."

"I'm trying not to," he defended, straining, "…but she isn't exactly light on her feet at the moment and we're both smaller than she is."

"You guys…really don't need to do this," Aero weakly commented with a laugh, trying to walk on her own, but the instant she applied pressure, they buckled at the knees from the pain that recourse through her body. "…okay, maybe you do." She adds, chuckling weakly before seething in pain again.

"Don't try to talk, just focus on breathing," Sula forcefully stated, wanting her to know it was a serious matter. "Less moving around you do, the better, that includes talking."

Vard watches the group advance towards them, his radio cutting in with frantic chatter, startling him.

"Alpha Centauri, do you read, I repeat, Alpha Centauri, do you read, over?!"

"…Alpha Centauri res-"

"Give me that," an angry voice barely audible demanded, followed by jostling around as the radio seemed to be changing hands. "you, Vult's pride and joy bunch…thanks for leaving us to die."

"I only followed orders, Captain, nothing more," Vard responded shakily.

"Orders, huh?" Saro's less-than-enthusastic voice replied, seething "…you listen and you listen good…I don't care what Vult says, you will hold position and wait for us to catch up, do you understand?"

"…unless the Commander specifies otherwise, Captain," Vard respectfully pointed out by rank. "You're still able to track us otherwise."

"Don't think you can hide behind Vult, you little _I'kved_…I'm taller than him, I'M your superior…you got that?"

Becoming disgruntled with the conversation, the Communications Technician began adjusting various dials on the communicator.

"I'm sorry, Captain…I…n't receive your last trans-…please repe…er." He attempted to sound like interference was affecting the line of communication before closing the channel off, satisfied. "…Captain Saro and his unit are on their way to link up with us again, Commander."

"If it was anyone else, I'd be happy to hear such news," Vult commented under his breath, dropping to the ground as something cut through the air over his head, far too loud to even be a gunshot. An explosion erupted in the roadway not too far away from them, a tendril of smoke from a launched rocket leading to it. He looked behind him to find the three of them on the ground as well, not helping Aero's wound at all.

"We got company, Sir!" Corr warned a split-second after the attack, "those ships are back! They're too far out of range for us to provide covering fire!"

The two aircraft that were giving them issues before were remaining a thorn in their side still as they hovered little under a click away, targeting to open fire again. Vult made a mental note if they were to survive this that anti-air would be heavily considered as part of the weapons load out for someone in the future…if they survived that long.

He climbed to his feet once more, grabbing Rha by the collar, trying to help hoist the three of them up.

"Come on, on your feet, let's go!" He ordered, pulling with all his might, weapon in the other hand. Vult's nerves were frayed to say the least, but he was keeping it together as any leader needed to.

They stumbled for a few steps before getting to their feet once more, moving as quickly as possible to cover, the sound of a quartet of plasma cannons opening fire, quickly followed by dozens of small, bluish-white orbs of energy splashing around them, the air itself felt ablaze from the heat in close proximity.

Thinking on his feet, Vult saw no other option but to seek shelter away from the attacking aircraft, the very building that they were outside of. He began pushing the three of them along, getting Corr and the others' attention as well.

"Everyone inside now! Move, move, move!" He ordered as the plasma continued to dance across the ground, the sound of more missiles being launched echoing through the air as well. The unit filtered in through the doors of the structure, one that looked much like any other metropolitan Vortian structure, hopefully blending in and keeping the ships from getting a direct line of sight on where they went.

His pulse racing as adrenaline surged through his veins, Vult was the last through the door, closing it behind him, heaving for breath.

"Everyone good?"

No reply.

Confused, Vult slowly turned…and was stunned into silence as well at what he saw, a sea of horns, pairs of frightened eyes to match, easily hundreds of them…all looking back at the ten Irken soldiers before them.

"Oh…Irk," Haxx commented to himself at the sight.

"…Orders, Sir?" Corr asked…almost pleading.

This was a situation they had never faced before, nor were trained to deal with…most certainly be one they would never forget.


	20. Even the Purest Fall

"Orders, Sir?" Corr requested of his superior, watching the reflections of eyes…Vortian eyes looking back at him, fear and confusions etched into them. He wanted to raise his weapon in instinct…but it was clear these weren't soldiers, a threat even.

They were civilians.

Easily close to two hundred, most of which consisted of women and children, some had their mates at their side, and even a few of the elderly were present. These weren't soldiers, far from it…didn't change the fact that they were incredibly outnumbered and all it was going to take was for something to tip the scales in favor of panic.

By the way things appeared, they seemed to be relocated refugees from the frontlines, their belongings of necessity and sentimental value in luggage ranging from suitcases, all the way to simple bags. They were trying to find haven away from the war raging on their world between them and the very thing that stood before them.

"No sudden movements," Vult calmly ordered over their comm. links, motioning to Rha and Sula, Aero in dire pain between them still. "Find somewhere to set her down and get to work. We can't stay here too long."

The Medical Officer nodded in understanding, looking around, pointing to a bench against the wall of the open office lobby.

"Come on, Aero, we'll get you patched up," Rha encouraged, trying to heft the larger Irken's weight, the movement causing a renewed yelp of pain as she clenched her teeth, seething. "Easy does it…"

Vult turned from the three soldiers to the room once more, the curious, frightened eyes still staring back. He points to the corners of the lobby.

"Captain, fan out and secure the perimeter, make sure these are just civies and no surprises."

"Yes, Sir," Corr obeyed, turning to his squadmates, giving hand signals to do so. "You heard him, hop to it."

The Vortians seemed to stir restlessly at the ordered troop movements, on the verge of panic. Vult acted fast to prevent the deterioration of the situation, his visor and mask sliding and retracting into his helmet, revealing his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please," he began, loud enough for all to hear without sounding forceful, the murmuring and whimpering seemed to die down somewhat….until a male spoke up.

"The Irken demons are here to slaughter us all! We're all going to die!"

Panicked cries began to pick up in crescendo…until they were aptly silenced as Vult fired a single round from his rifle into the air, hitting the tall ceiling above, demanding absolute silence.

"We are not here to hurt you, it is not our intentions, do not force our hand," he assuredly said, making it known that he would not hesitate if given no other option. "…please remain calm and follow any of our orders if need be, cooperation will be most appreciated." Vult sighs, hesitant to say anything, but given the situation, it may work in his favor. "…I have wounded soldiers, we are only stopping temporarily to rest and heal, then we will be on our way and leave you be. In the meantime, I only ask that you cooperate and remain calm."

Even Corr was surprised that he appealed to them in such away as opposed to using intimidation and force. It proved that almost anything could truly be accomplished without the use of violence….which was almost dynamically opposed to the way the Empire operated regarding enemy combatants and species.

The decision to do so seemed to work in his favor as the quivering civilians focused more on one another than the Irken Spec Ops in odd uniforms.

"Wh…what's the Commander t-talking about?" Aero managed, her side feeling like it was set ablaze, Sula cutting through the temporary fix of bandages around her torso. "Where are we?"

"Don't worry about it," Sula responded as she worked, focusing, "we're safe for now, and I need to fix you up before you bleed out or run the risk of puncturing your spooch with bone fragments."

She removed the bandages, revealing the sharp protrusion of emerald-stained bone just below her breast, the bandage and her clothing saturated heavily with blood. Rha grimaced at the sight, knowing it had to be painful, looking to the Medical Officer as she began fishing out a pair of sanitized gloves from her belt.

"…how are you going to fix her?"

She sighs, looking at the wound still as she places the gloves on her hands, one-by-one.

"Unless that fall we all took did anymore damage, I should be able to slide it back in place and set it…should be able to anyways."

"What do you mean should be able to? This is smeet's play for you…isn't it?" Rha questioned, slightly concerned, watching Aero's blood begin to lightly drip to the floor.

"What I mean is," Sula continued, adjusting the sterilized gloves on her hands, "is that if there's more damage than just this rib, or even crushed ones…I don't have any painkillers left or the tools to do surgery. Battlefield medicine is for temporary fixes, not delicate procedures."

The Medical Officers placed her hands on the exposed bone, beginning to apply pressure, trying to push it back in place. Aero's reaction was instantaneous as she cried out in pain, flailing her arms, striking Sula in the face spasmastically. The smaller female fell from the force with a yelp, rubbing her face.

"Aero, hold still!" Sula ordered as she climbed to her feet once more, motioning to Rha, "Hold her down!"

"What are you doing over there, killing her?" Haxx jested from across the lobby over the comm. link, huffing a laugh as Rha went to pin her arms down, despite the size difference.

"Shut it, Haxx," Corr ordered, "no time for games, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Civilians can be just as dangerous if left unchecked."

"Yes, Sir," he responded, noting his commanding officer's seriousness.

Aero continued to howl in pain as Sula applied force to the jutting bone, fresh blood still coming from the wound. With grit teeth, she pushed harder, nearly straight down, the protrusion finally sliding back into place wetly.

"There we go," Sula commented as she drew breath from her straining, looking to Aero, "still with me?"

All she could manage was a nod, still in pain, faint streams of uncontrollable tears out of her eyes. Sula pats her shoulder gently with a smile. "You'll be fine, just lay there and get some rest…you're in good hands."

"The Commander wasn't kidding when he said you were the best," Rha chuckles, smiling lightly at her.

"Everyone serves a purpose," she answered modestly, looking to him as she began fishing out more bandages from her dwindling medical supplies. "Just serving mine and what is expected of me," smiling faintly as she begins laying the sterilized bandage over the wound, the emerald fluid soaking into it.

"Y-you should get a medal," Aero managed with a weak smile, giving her a thumb up.

"I don't know about that…but thank you for the compliment," Sula answered with a weak chuckle. "I need you to sit up and take your jacket off so I can wrap it."

"Normally, I would…without hesitation," Aero spoke, sorely sitting up, nodding behind the Medical Officer, "but you've got an audience watching."

Sula glanced over her shoulder, taking notice to a dozen or so pairs of Vortian eyes watching as she worked, awe written on them.

"Just ignore them and take your jacket off," Sula reiterated, getting the proper length of bandage ready.

"I'm not giving them a peep show."

"Aero, we don't have time for this, just do it."

"Tell them to quit watching me first and I'll think about it," She made clear, crossing her arms, only to cringe in pain from her newly-set bone. Rha stood up, weapon on his back, holding his hands up as he approached them.

"Nothing to see here, folks, please go about your business," he ushered, trying to herd them away.

"There…happy?" Sula sighed, annoyed slightly, "now take your jacket off so I can finish dressing your wound."

"Are they still watching?"

The Medical Officer tried to remain calm, pinching the bridge between her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"No, Aero, they're not. You've never had a problem walking around naked in front of us on the ship, nor cared what we saw in the field, why you so self-conscious all of a sudden?"

She shrugs, uncertainty on her face. "I don't know, I just don't feel comfortable with a bunch of strangers looking at my half-naked body is all…the sooner you do this, the better." The Vehicle Technician spoke, undoing her already taught jacket, slipping out of it, letting it fall wetly, still saturated with blood.

"Probably has something to do with your hormones more than likely," she mentioned as she began wrapping. "…all part of being a mature woman, I'm assuming."

As Sula finished up with Aero's wound, Vard was in communication with both Command and Captain Saro's unit, formulating a plan.

"What's the sit-rep, Sergeant?"

"…Understood, Command, stand-by, over," Vard spoke into the radio, turning to his commanding officer with a sigh. "Not good, Commander…not good at all."

Vult sighed with discontent…nothing was ever easy, that seemed to be a day in their lives.

"What are we looking at then?"

"Well…Sir," He began, clearing his throat, wary of his tone, "Supreme Commander Grimm is still ushering us to "get our _c'hurtas _in gear and stop screwing around" for starters, he wasn't pleased at all with our progress thus far…and Captain Saro's unit sustained heavy casualties en route to our position from those enemy forces we encountered."

The Commander's nerves were at their end as it was.

"First of all, Grimm can shove it up his _c'hurta_ and secondly…how heavy?"

Vard, though surprised at Vult's fervent response, accessed the information on his visor, scrolling through it.

"Initial figures are reading approximately 67% mortality rate, only 43, including Captain Saro, are alive. As for their combat effectiveness, it isn't listed. Last transmission with them was about…10 minutes ago, they're en route to our position to continue on-task."

"All the more reason to get out of here and stay ahead of them…"

"Actually…we can't…Sir." Vard hesitantly spoke, unsure of what his commanding officer's reaction would be. Being the messenger had its ups and downs…the bearer of bad news was one of the worst aspects of it.

"Do elaborate, Sergeant," Vult requested, not upset at him specifically, but the morons running things from Command, muttering under his breath "…feel like Zim's in charge half the time".

"I was specifically ordered by Supreme Commander Grimm to inform you to stay put and wait for Captain Saro." The Communications Officer rattled off, then slackening somewhat, "…doesn't make a lot of sense to tell us to hurry up when he wants us to stay put…does it, Sir?"

"No…it doesn't," Commander Vult sighed, aggravated even farther at a "superior" officer, seeming more by rank only and not intelligence. "…just keep me posted if you hear anything and be ready to move out, I'm tempted to defy orders on this one."

"Understood, Commander," Vard nodded, completely understanding of where he was coming from with his last statement as he went about his duties, keying Command once more to continue the usual transmission of information of what was going on and what to do next.

"There," Sula stated, finishing the last bit of taping on the bandages, "done…now you can put your jacket back on."

"About time, I thought we were on a date there for a second," she responded jokingly with a laugh of amusement as she put her arms through the sleeves, trying to button it back up, "…thanks for patching me up, we'd all fall apart if you weren't around, you know that?"

Sula huffed a laugh, smiling softly, "I wouldn't say that, but I do feel like I get my fair share of use around here, I'll say that much. Can't have anything bad happening to my friends, now can I?"

"Wouldn't be a very good friend at all then," Aero lightheartedly responded as she stood, picking her rifle up as she did so, opening a link to Vult, "I'm vertical and ready to go again, Sir, little sore, but no worse for wear."

The Commander nodded to her from across the room.

"That's good, Sergeant," He answers warmly, looking to his soldiers, motioning, "alright, wrap it up, we're moving out."

Vard pressed his radio remnants to listen closer, looking to his commanding officer. His visage was one stunned in disbelief, trying to formulate a response, shaking his head, looking to Vult.

"Uhh…Commander?"

"Yes, Vard, what is it?" He responded, glancing to the shorter Irken.

The Communications Officer swallowed nervously, preparing to speak, only to be interrupted as the doors slammed open with enough force to shatter the plate glass in them, Irken Elite soldiers, clearly exhausted from battle, several carrying wounds as a result, some in such bad enough shape were carried by comrades. The few dozen Irken filtered in, nearly collapsing in the remaining open space. To top it off, their commanding officer rounded out the new arrivals, partaking the scene around him with disgust, instantly focusing on Vult as he approached.

"Good to see you're not dead, Captain," Vult sarcastically responded, unperturbed as Saro's claws latched onto his collar in anger. The mere inch or so height difference wasn't enough to lift him off his feet, but the Captain possessed impressive strength.

"You left us to die, you _ikveda murata_!"

Vult merely broke his hold off his collar, knocking his hands away.

"Touch me again and you'll lose your hands," he warned, straightening his uniform once more. "I told you before, you fall behind, you stay behind. We work alone, can't keep up…not my problem."

"Awfully gutsy talk coming from some cowardly smeet wanting to run back to the robot arm," Saro sneered, looking past him to the Vortian civilians, stirring more with the new arrival of even more Irken. "…why aren't these _murato _dead?"

"They're civilians, not soldiers," Vult answered, making it clear, "they present no thr-"

"How can you be so sure?"

Vult leaned forward, keeping his back to the civilians in case anyone was eavesdropping, "I'm sure because if you would just look for a moment instead of opening your mouth, you'd see they're just scared refugees, they mean no one any harm. Leave them be and we'll go about our business."

Saro leans back smugly, crossing his arms.

"Leave them be, huh?" He comments as he motions for his communications officer, looking to him. "Tell Command we've linked up with Alpha Centauri again…and how to proceed with these "refugees"."

"Yes, Captain," he nodded, queuing his radio to do so, despite the Commander's wishes. He didn't want to invoke Saro's wrath.

"There's no need to get Command involved, Saro." Vult made clear, motioning to the civilians. "We leave; they'll go about their business as we go about ours, end of discussion."

"Regulations are regulations, _Commander_," Saro smirked as he used Vult's own integrity against him, feigning surprise, "a man like you always follows the rules, doesn't he? Standard procedure clearly states to inform Command of these…situations, await further instruction, and proceed from there."

Corr's attention was finally grabbed as the two officers seemed to argue amongst one another, the rest of the Shadow Strikers able to hear plain as day over their helmet comm. links. Despite their personal feelings and wanting to back their commanding officer up…it was best they minded their own business as they kept a wary eye over the civilians whom were already further placed on edge with the arrival of even more Irken.

"What's the problem, Commander?" He asked politely of Vult, having every right to being the same rank as Saro was to begin with, a man that was already testing his last nerves.

"Tell your lackey to stay out of this," Saro pointed to Corr, earning a hard glare from Vult's second-in-command. The Commander could almost feel the tension to retaliate in the air around his obedient Captain. He didn't blame him at all one bit, either…it was what provoked himself into assaulting Saro years ago.

"My "lackey" is more competent than you'll ever be," Vult made abundantly clear as he shoved him back, more so for his own safety. It took a lot to push Corr to the brink of acting out…Saro was already toeing the line as it was. "Unless you want to find yourself on the wrong end of a weapon, you best watch your words."

Saro simply huffed as steadied himself, tempted to lash out at Vult, hesitant from their prior "meeting" and its result. "…big talk coming from a Vort-sympathizing coward. Even if you had the guts, you're still outnumbered."

Commander Vult simply glared heavily at Saro, grinding his teeth to not entice him into insulting his soldiers again. He could handle anything he send his way directly, but to insult his hard-working men and women beneath his command was a step too far.

"What's the matter, Vult?" Saro grinned smugly, a parted sliver of a mouth revealing his teeth. "…nothing to comeback to something that's true?"

"I'm not going to stand here and bicker with you like we're a couple of smeets, drop it before you get dropped…permanently," Vult finally threatened, his visage assuring he would make true on such a statement if Saro kept going.

The Elite Captain waves him off as if he were nothing, looking to his communications officer. "What's Command's response?"

"They want us to search and question anyone who might have ties to the Vortian Defensive Forces, anything to provide intel on troops' whereabouts."

Saro cracked a wicked smile, clasping his hands together with a sigh of content. The Elite Captain was a distasteful individual as it was, his expression didn't help his case any whatsoever.

"Some good, ole' interrogation…my favorite."

Vult clenched his fist tightly, finally coming to a conclusion.

"We're not interrogating these civilians, plain and simple."

Saro looked to him amused upon his statement.

"Oh, really? You, the most animate individual about following rules and regs I have ever had the severe displeasure of sharing the same space with…wanting to defy orders from Command? Quite the rebel, aren't you?" He sneered, chuckling as he brushed past Vult, shoving him aside as he did so. "If you'll excuse me, _Commander_…I've got orders to fulfill."

Corr watched with a scowl of discontent for Saro as he approached the civilians, placing a hand on Vult's shoulder in camaraderie, only to have it shaken off…something very uncharacteristic of the Vult he knew. He looked before he spoke to the Commander's face, seeing a blind rage building within his eyes, trying to suppress it.

"…Sir..are you okay?"

"Not now, Corr," Vult sighed heavily, trying not to sound angered to him for not deserving it. "…just…just round everyone up, we're moving out."

"What about the civili-"

"I said we're moving out, Captain, I gave you and order, hop to it," Vult reiterated clearly, disgusted with the situation.

Aero simply watched on, shaking her head, muttering to herself as she turned back to keep overwatch of the civilians until instructed otherwise.

"…I really hate that guy."

Something bounced against her leg, garnering her attention. A small, bright-yellow ball rolled to a stop between her feet. With a smile of amusement, she knelt down to a single knee, picking it up to inspect it; her sight attracted the small Vortian boy that had dashed up after it. He came to an abrupt stop, fear in his eyes at the much taller Irken, but stayed still. Looking between the ball and the child, Aero cheerily smiled, offering it to him.

"Here you go, little guy," she said brightly, holding it out insistently, "go on…take it."

A Vortian woman dashed forward, scooping who was apparently her son up away from Aero before she could hand him his ball.

"Duro, don't run off like that," she scolded before turning an icy glare to the Shadow Striker. "Don't you dare touch my son, you monster!"

She blinked in shock for a second before formulating a response.

"Whoa, easy lady," Aero shook her hands, ball still in hand, pointing to it, "I was just trying to give him his toy back."

"All of you Irken are the same, a bunch of blood-thirsty, ravenous beasts! Everywhere you go, you leave destruction, death, and devastation in your wake! For what? For your precious Empire and "almighty" Tallest?" She scorned, clearly carrying a vendetta, looking her up and down. "…you disgust me."

"Now wait a minute," Aero spoke defensively, having struck a nerve, "you can't form an opinion like that just from a few instances, just like your kind and any other across the universe, we aren't all the same."

"You compare compassion and peace with a war machine bent on universal conquest. You really have no clue, do you?" The Vortian mother spoke venomously, revealing small, sharp pointed teeth in a defensive near-snarl, the teeth a characteristic of their race, as were the double-jointed legs and horns that curved backwards from their heads.

Aero angrily turned her back for her to show the Vortian woman, son still in her arms, thumbing to the artificial attachment. She wanted to make it abundantly clear that the Irken aren't how they are perceived.

"You have any idea on what PAKs do and what they're for? Half the time, I'm not even thinking my thoughts or doing actions on my own accords, it's all this. We're slaves to our own people, controlled and maintained to an unnatural level by technology, all for the sake of efficiency. I'm a special case, but us "monsters" as you call us never mature to adulthood, never reproduce, never truly feel emotion…we're denied the most base of needs by our "precious" Empire.

I'm sure you're wondering why we don't rebel…I'll tell you why.

First sign of resentment or a hint of distaste for the regime," She animatedly motioned with a lateral slice across her throat. "Doesn't even have to be in person, either, that's right lady…they can remotely kill us with a push of a button when and where they please, I'm probably pushing it right now telling you all this. Let me tell you…life doesn't really seem worth living when someone else holds it in their hands and can end it whenever they please, so just like good, obedient little drones, we follow orders and stay alive. You truly think I enjoy what I do? I was on the chopping block for being "defective" because I constantly defied orders, I got lucky.

Anything that doesn't fit the mold the Empire has deemed perfect is disposed of and "deactivated"…I'm sure you comprehend what I'm saying by that, oh, but it doesn't end there. Killing "defectives" isn't enough…they are completely erased from the database, no longer existing whatsoever in this universe. Do NOT even think you even know what we Irken are and what we contend with on a daily basis…I would gladly trade your predicament for ours."

The woman was clearly taken back from Aero's fervent defense of her people, making sure this Vortian woman truly understood the nature of their existence, the sad, depressing truth of it.

"…I…I apologize…I had no idea," she finally managed, setting her son down.

"Sorry for blowing up on you, just a little stressed out," Aero stated with a sigh, running her hands down her face, fatigued and in pain from her wounds. "I don't want you to think I'm defending the Empire's actions, far from it…I just do as I'm told to stay alive, that's all."

"I didn't know that's the kind of lives that you live," she embarrassingly admitted, ashamed, "forgive me for insulting you."

"I've heard worse and you're entitled to your opinion with the way things are at the moment," Aero lightly replied with a wave of her hand, smiling faintly. "Think nothing of it…" She looks to the boy again, who's clutching his mother's leg in fear. "…how old is he?"

The mother patted his head gently, looking to Aero without a glare, more of an expressionless gaze, unsure of her intentions.

"…4 cycles."

"He's cute. I like his eyes; they're really bright and colorful."

She smiles very faintly at the Irken's compliment of her son.

"They're his father's, he's serving on the front." She informed, remaining vague for various reasons.

The Irken soldier bites her lip, hesitant, but curious.

"…c…c-can I ask you something?"

The woman nods, intrigued by her sudden lack of confidence in her voice.

"Wh-…what's it like…to have children?" She nervously asks, rubbing the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed at her curiosity. "I'm a little different from the average Irken if you couldn't tell…lots of things floating around in my mind that I never thought about before…that's one of them." She turns slightly, avoiding showing her flushed cheeks, "sorry…don't have to answer if you want to..."

Despite the situation, the Vortian woman manages a weak smile seeing the pure innocence and curiosity in Aero's large, vibrant eyes.

"It's…difficult to explain, really, it's an evolution to the next stage of life and maturity. It feels wonderful, despite the pains of birth, the feeling of bringing life into the universe…" she attempts, letting a small laugh out, "…I'm sorry, I can't really explain it, it's something a woman must experience firsthand to truly grasp…do you have a mate or something looking for you to bear children?"

Aero's eyes went wide at the question, blushing even more furiously, "no, no, no, nothing like that," she chuckles nervously, glancing to Vard across the room quickly, almost without thought on the matter, something that seemed out of her logical control. She tried masking it best she should. "…I'm just curious is all…besides, I don't know of any males that are fully matured anyway."

"Not that it's any of my business," she began with a light smile, "…but you have feelings for someone…don't you? Someone you're around on a day-to-day basis?" She smiles, laughing lightly to herself, "…I apologize…I don't mean to pry…you…you really do seem different from other Irken…a lot different even." She chuckles.

"Yeah…you could say that."

Aero squeezes her hand without thought, realizing she's still holding the hornling's ball, holding the ball out to the mother, "here's his toy."

"You can give it to him if you like," The Vortian woman said, looking to Duro, "get your toy, it's okay."

Aero kneels once more, holding the toy out to him again with a pleasant smile.

"The scary Irken lady isn't going to hurt me, Mama?"

"No, she's…nice. It's okay, go ahead and take it."

He hesitantly reaches forward, resting his hand on the ball before quickly snatching it away, clutching it between his hands at his chest, still shy and scared.

She smiles as she stands to her full height once more, caught off guard as the Irken Elite Captain she absolutely detested shoved the woman back, falling on her behind. Hurt and frightened, she gathers her son in her arms again, whimpering as she joins the collective once more.

"Stand with the rest of the lot, don't step out of line! Bunch of filthy mongrels…" He ordered before turning his hardened glare to the much-taller Aero. "What the Irk do you think you're doing?"

"Not being a _c'hurta_ like some people," she emphasized, referring to him as she motioned. "These people have done no wrong, I'm reassuring that by showing compassion…try it some time, you'll be surprised at the results."

"Compassion is for the weak, you defective freak," Saro growled, sharply jabbing his finger into the center of her chest to make his point known, "Command wants them interrogated for information regarding Vortian operations, their prisoners for the time being. You're supposed to be an example of the Empire's elite; the best of the best…all I see is that Vult's bleeding heart for our enemies has infected and contaminated the rest of you like some disgusting disease."

With grit teeth, she balled her fist up, doing everything within her not to belt Saro right in his mouth, but unclenched her hand, relaxing. "I take orders from Commander Vult and no one else. Touch me again and we're going to have problems…by "we", I mean you."

He simply chuckles, amused. She couldn't stand his disgusting, cold smile he possessed. The only thing that stopped her from socking him right in it was the respect for Vult's orders to try to get along with him and his soldiers, the sooner this mission was completed, the better.

"Problems? If I didn't know any better, it just sounded like you were threatening me, I could be mistaken." Saro began, sharply ramming his right hand in a fist straight into her wounded side of freshly-set bones.

She instantly dropped to her knees with a yelp in blinding pain, tears forming in her eyes as she clutched at her side. Feeling fresh blood coming forth from the impact, soaking into the dressing, Aero knew he managed to open the puncture again. Her body shuddered in agony, finding it extremely difficult to breathe from the seizing up in shock, feeling Saro grasp her antenna, sharply yanking her head back, looking down on her, his eyes dark, full of such deep-seeded anger and rage.

"You'll learn respect one way or another, _vodeta_," He growled, pushing her to the ground on her back with a boot on her chest, causing another cry in pain as he slammed her into the floor, even going as far to grind the heel of his boot into her dressed wound. "…even if I have to beat it into you." He chuckled.

"Captain, I'm not going to argue the matter with you, I gave you an order, follow it."

"With all due respect, Sir," he continued, motioning to the crowd, "We can't just leave that…that monster here, especially from what you said he's responsible for. Ignorance doesn't solve the matter."

Vult looked up from his near-argument with Corr on proceeded on mission and leaving Saro's unit to deal with the civilians, hearing the commotion on the other side of the sea of Vortians, Saro's menacing stature with a sick, pleasurable smile. The painful cries belonged to a more than familiar voice. Haxx's voice cut into the comm. channel as he began approaching them in a half-jog.

"He's hurting Aero, I'm going to break my foot off in his _c'hurta_," he angrily informed, only to be blocked by one of Saro's men, his Lieutenant.

"Mind your own business, Speckie." He sneered, shoving the weaponless Haxx back with a push of his rifle between them with a smirk. The Shadow Striker got back in his face once more, letting him know he wasn't playing.

"This IS my business, unless you want to find out what it is, get out of the _ikvedu _way before I MAKE you," Haxx growled, balling his fists up. Taller and outranking him, he didn't care; it would be completely worth it to help one of his own.

"Stand down, Sergeant," Corr ordered, trying to quell the situation that was escalating out of control.

He turned to Corr, exclaiming unbelievably without using the radio as he pointed to Saro.

"You're just going to stand there and let him hurt her?!"

About that time, Haxx caught the Elite Lieutenant's rifle butt across his jaw, knocked on the ground in a daze from being caught completely off guard.

"No need to get hostile on us, Speckie," he chuckled, watching as Haxx spit a mouthful of blood out, lazily pointing his rifle in his direction to keep him at bay, "just doing our job, trying to help you out is all."

"What's the matter, Sergeant?" Saro snarled a jagged smile in sick pleasure at Aero, now sobbing in pain as tears run from her eyes, getting renewed, sharp screams as he placed more pressure on her broken ribs. "…I thought you were going make true on your threat. Not wise to threaten someone like me idly, now is it?" He feels the fragments shift sickeningly beneath his foot, followed by Aero's painful cries. "IS IT?!"

"S-s-stop…please…s-stop." She managed through her seething pain, collected tears streaming down her face as she shakily placed her hands about his foot, trying to alleviate the pressure.

"What was that? Speak up…" The Irken Elite Captain smirked, amused, gritting his teeth, "…I can barely hear you." He emphasized with another sharp push.

Control seemed to escape the Irken Commander, fleeting fast at that very moment. Saro had always been a thorn in his side for years, ever since Drevin, and only continued to further enforce that very notion. It was one thing to do things of such a horrible nature, the boundaries pushed to the limit in his presence…but the unnecessary pain and torment of that the infamous "Vortian Nightmare" was known for was a step too far. Something had to be done.

Vult, sheer anger clouding around him as he stepped forward, his embodied person focus on that of Saro and making him pay for one travesty after another. It donned on him that it was a mistake to let such a terrible individual live when he had the chance then to end the suffering of many for the cost of one tainted soul. His second-in-command stepped in front of him, arms outstretched to hinder, hoping he could appeal to his senses.

"Sir, please calm down, don't do anything drastic," Corr attempted to reason, only to be on the receiving end of the Commander's strength as he essentially swatted him aside, pushing him with a single arm to the ground. He fell to his back, landing on the hard, polished floor.

He looked to Vult as soon as he was able to, on the ground, only to watch as the very same gauntlet that shoved him aside, their trademark plasma blades came to life, the other quickly following. The light magenta-whitish hue as the glowed highlighted and reflected off of his well-worn and battle-damaged uniform. He couldn't see Vult's face from his perspective, but he could only imagine what was written upon it.

Corr had never seen the Commander truly upset or angered…he witnessed first-hand as Vult's seemingly compassionate nature was shattered; giving way to an inferno of rage…he had truly lost control.


	21. Mistakes Cost Those At Their Weakest

Corr wearily leaned back in his desk chair with a sigh, looking to the time.

The three eager cadets before him seemed stunned, on edge from his story as they were captivated by such a daring tale.

"W-What happened next, Sir?" DZ questioned, having suspicions of what was to come.

The elder Irken bit his lip, studying his desk in silence before fishing around in a desk drawer, retrieving a small data disc, sliding it before the three younger before him.

"What's this, Professor?" Digits asked, picking it up, inspecting it. "…looks like a video disc."

"It is," Corr nodded, motioning to it. "What you want to know is on that disc, I would tell you myself…but I would rather not relive those events if avoidable."

DZ swallowed, surprised at such admittance from the elder Irken.

"…was it that bad, Sir?" He questioned cautiously, "…what Commander Vult did?"

"Words don't begin to describe what I witnessed first-hand there that day…just watch the video when you get a chance…I won't be surprised if you don't want to hear more," He answered, standing up with his cane shakily, gathering his things. "That's all for today, I'm afraid…see you in class tomorrow, dismissed."

The trio got to their feet, Digits holding the disc still, all three snapping a sharp salute to Corr before exiting. They exited as per usual, closing the door behind them.

"I truly hope that doesn't scar those kids too horribly," Corr muttered to himself, having second thoughts, but sighs as he finishes packing his belongings into his attaché case, "…truth of it is…that's far from the worst to befall any of us." He thought, making his way for the door to go home for the evening.

"So what do you think is on that disc?" Joker questioned, walking beside Digits as he studied it.

"Pretty self-explanatory if you think about it," Digits logically commented, "I think it's safe to agree that without a doubt, Professor Corr is telling the truth about this Shadow Striker business and he was a member of it…there's no way anyone could weave such an intricate lie like that and not trip up at least once."

The two friends present nodded in agreement, knowing it to be true.

"If that's the case," he continued, sighing, "and Corr didn't want to talk about whatever was on this disc…it can't be anything good." He chuckles nervously, "I'm curious…but I'm not sure if I want to know to be honest. The Shadow Strikers were the elite of the elite, the very best and most loyal soldiers to the Empire at the time…if one of them was mentally affected by an event…I don't know if we can handle it."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Joker sneered, snatching the disc from his hand, "it's just a video file, so what if there's some violence, even blood and gore…we're soldiers, on our way to being Honor Guard…you two smeets are telling me you can't handle a little blood and guts?"

"It's not that simple, Joker," DZ spoke up, looking to him. "It's one thing to see something like that as a result of war, but it's another when the victims had no hand in it to begin with." He paused, swallowing at the thought, "…from how Commander Corr was going about it and the situation…I think something happened to those civilians…something terrible."

Joker studied the disc in his palm, clasping his fingers around it.

"Only one way to find out then, now isn't there?" He commented, motioning. "Come on, the Archives has vid screens we can use."

"It's almost time for light's out though, and Gis is already pretty irritated with us as it is," Digits warned as they came into the empty expanse of the Archives, the equivalent of a library, the walls lined not with books, but data files to be inserted into terminals for viewing, even checked out to be used on personal data pads. The trio approached one of the terminals.

"He's not going to do anything, he knows we've been staying after with the Professor after PT. He doesn't seem to upset anyway about it, he's usually screaming at us for the smallest things, been pretty quiet lately to be honest." Joker stated, powering the terminal up before inserting the disc, watching the media player open on-screen, waiting for the video to load.

A screen of snow and static graced the frame for a moment before quickly snapping into focus, what appeared to be a helmet-mounted camera was the point of view, the information in the upper right hand corner signifying it belonged to Captain Corr, complete with his serial number, and promptly followed by the time and date…a date that existed a bit over 100 years ago, during the Empire's waning years. The view panned to that of a couple of soldiers dressed in black and red, helmets and all, the very sight sending small chills down their spines.

"I…I don't know if there's any more proof necessary…those have to be Shadow Strikers, never seen uniforms like that before, from the way the Professor described them…there's no doubt, "Digits unbelievably stated what they all were thinking, watching as Corr's camera refocused as he approached a slightly smaller Irken dressed similarly to himself and an Irken Elite with the rank of Captain, apparently arguing.

"Something wrong, Sir?" A clearly much younger voice of Corr's filled the sound, getting their attention, watching at the Elite Captain thrusted his finger at Corr menacingly.

"Tell your lackey to stay out of this," he ordered.

Joker shook his head from sheer disbelief.

"…that's Saro!"

"Who?" DZ questioned, noting his surprise, but unfamiliar with the name.

"Saro, Captain Saro…" hoping his friend would get it, he sighs, "The Vortian Nightmare?"

It instantly clicked.

"THE Vortian Nightmare?" DZ blinked, studying the intimidating features of the Captain on the video, the most prominent being the scarring on his face and lack of an eye, replaced by a cybernetic one. One image that was burned into their minds was the intense, steely glare he possessed, even without it being a hardened one, it was still frightening.

"I'd take Sergeant Gis over this guy any day of the week," Joker absentmindedly commented, watching as Corr held himself back as the other Shadow Striker shoved Saro away, warning him.

"I'm assuming that other one there with Corr is Commander Vult since he called him "Sir", I remember the professor mentioning a few times that he was second-in-command, so it makes sense that would be his commanding officer…right?" Digits stated, looking to DZ as the events continued to playback on screen.

"Seems that way," DZ nodded at his friend's logic, watching, furrowing his brow in confusion somewhat as the view went from about eye-level to the ground, the jarring of the impact affecting the feed somewhat until it refocused, the view upon one Commander Vult, blades of glowing, magenta-tinged plasma...and a lot of frightened, innocent civilians between him and the Vortian Nightmare. His spooch sank as he came to a realization, swallowing hard.

"...please tell me he's not going to do what I think he's going to do," he commented to no one in particular, merely the voice of their collective thoughts.

Soldiers or not, there were some things that any sentient race should never have thrust upon them, both in giving and receiving...this was one of the moments. The apparent difference in generations and regimes were made all the more clearer...as well as reasoning behind why it was imperative that the Empire fell to give way to a somewhat diplomatic and more peaceful Republic.

In a macabre combination of utter shock and horror, the three cadets watched as Corr's former commanding officer of the unit that wasn't supposed to exist advance through the now-panicking crowd of Vortian civilians, literally cutting a swath to create a path, no matter who stood in his way. The chaos and pandemonium of the situation was beyond belief, the cries of terror from the civilians to by what the feed was showing, Corr, Haxx, and Tuu were struggling with all their might to restrain the Commander on his path of literal slaughter, three average-sized male Irken soldiers, Vult still continuing forward, albeit slowed considerably.

The shrieks of pain finally came to a rest, giving way to sniveling, whimpering, relatives and loved ones affected by his violent outburst weeping over those he had slain, the camera feed on Vult's face for a moment as his seething rage was beginning to subside as the three beneath his command held him back, mere feet from a smugly-smiling Saro, the Irken Elite Captain going as far as to approach him, applauding even with a low chuckle.

"I'm impressed, _Commander_...didn't know you had such a vicious streak in you," he says amusingly as he surveys the destruction wrought by Vult's outburst, making a mockery of the very foundations that the Irken Commander prided himself and his soldiers on, leaning within inches of his face, looking menacingly into Vult's eyes, ones now no blinded by rage, whispering "...consider it a little...payback for Drevin. Not quite paid in full..." he cracks his malicious smile, chuckling again, "...but it's a start."

The trio restraining him felt their commanding officer's body go lax in their grasp, letting go of him. Vult fell to his knees, staring towards the floor in oblivion, his plasma blades long since subsided upon deactivation, looking to his hand shakily before him.

Controlling his own emotions and temper, Corr grasped Saro by the front of his uniform, glaring daggers at him from mere inches away, his voice tinged with an angered growl.

"....Gather your men and move out." the Captain seethed to Saro through grit, grinding teeth. He wanted nothing more than to flay him on the spot for what he had done to provoke Vult into such an outburst, as well as the disrespect he had been showing. Everything about him demanded it to be done, yet Corr controlled himself, knowing that it may not be now or soon even, but eventually...the "nightmare" was to be in for a rude awakening.

Saro huffs amusingly, looking down at Corr's hand, earning him a violent shake, surprising him.

"I gave you an order, Captain, follow it," Corr reiterated, releasing his uniform, "hop to it before Command hears of your disobedience."

Corr may have been the same rank, just a tad shorter than Saro if not equal height, but he knew how the Elite Captain's mind function, using psychological warfare against him, rather simple for someone that was a bootlicker to their Tallest and even Supreme Commander Grimm for that matter. Dedication and obedience to the cause was one thing, but Saro's blind loyalty to the Empire and those who commanded him was disgusting.

Not one to trifle with such a threat, Saro straightens his uniform where Corr ruffled it up, clearing his throat as he brushed past him without a word, leaving Corr near his comrades, the civilians frightened beyond belief, crying, and on the verge of panicking into a literal stampede given their numbers, wanting to get away from the bloodthirsty Irken in their presence. He looks to a sobbing Aero on the ground, clutching at her injured side, Sula rushing up to assess the damage, attempting to console her, but not before shooting Saro and his departing men an icy glare that put even his own to shame, muttering curses at them.

As Aero was tended to, Haxx and Tuu attempted to get Vult's attention, someone who seemed off in a different world still, unresponsive but aware.

"Commander? Sir? Commander Vult? Come on, Sir, snap out of it" Haxx continued, going as far as snapping his fingers in front of his face. A horrible scene lay around them, and he was fully aware of the carnage, as well as the perpetrator. He was more worried about his commanding officer's state of mind at the moment, the circumstances calling for their leader, but he seemed deaf to it.

"What do we do, Captain?" Tuu looked up, asking of Corr, his tone unusually solemn compared to his usual self, Vult's actions clearly affecting him, much like it was the rest of those that witnessed. The line that separated Commander Vult from a monster such as Saro had become quite obscure and blurred.

Corr sighs in exasperation, looking around as he thought, motioning, reluctant at best.

"...We still have a mission to complete, everyone secure your kit and get ready to move out....we've wasted enough time here as it is."

"So we're just going to up and leave after the Commander snapped and went on a killing spree? What about these people and what just happened?" Haxx incredulously questioned of his superior, something he was known for anymore. However, he was entitled to it this time.

"I gave you an order, Sergeant, follow it."

He stood, facing the Captain, his treatment of what had just happened, enemy or not, was wrong. No being of sentience should have saw or felt what had just taken place, but the disturbing fact of the matter was it was a reality before them. Haxx was shocked, insulted even, at Corr's disregard of the matter.

"Corr, he just turned these people into festive confetti and we're going to leave like nothing happened? " He defiantly stated, thrusting an accusatory finger towards Vult. "This isn't right and you know it!"

"I said stow it, Haxx!" Corr actually yelled, containing his own anger, a combination of feelings flowing through him, strangely tinged with a hint of hurt, betrayal even. The teachings that Vult had bestowed upon them in how to conduct themselves seemed all for naught, hypocritical of his words. He cast a downward glance to Vult momentarily before returning to the Sergeant who was more than right before him. "...the mission comes first...we're behind enemy lines, deep in Vortian territory...self-explanatory that we need to get moving again."

As much as he didn't want to comply, it was necessary and he knew it. Haxx finally subsided, without a word as he picked his rifle up once more, securing it to his back, Tuu following him. Corr sighed exasperatedly, looking to his commanding officer, now looking like a broken man on his knees, staring at the floor as if trying to bore holes into it.

Hesitantly, he clasped his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"...On your feet, Commander...we need to move out, Sir."

Corr awoke, panting for breath in a cold sweat, his old eyes darting about the darkened room...his bedroom, the familiarity of it calming him somewhat...a nightmare...reliving of one, a moment he wished to never see in the remainder of his days. His vision adjusted to the darkness as he wearily looked to the time, groaning in annoyance at the sight. It was hours before the start of his day, several at that, but swung his feet over the edge of the bed, grabbing his cane to stand with a grunt, sighing.

"...no more sleep tonight," he muttered as he shuffled across the room to his closet, getting dressed in a simple outfit, wearing a light jacket as well. He exited his modest accommodations, a middle-class apartment complex, just outside of the base he instructed at, though paid for completely because of the service and duties he provided for his people, regime regardless. Corr had always been a modest individual and only needed the necessities, nothing extravagant or luscious...comfort often led to a dulling of the senses, something that could prove to be a soldier's downfall...even in retirement, he was prepared for the unexpected.

The recent events, the retelling of Vult's loss of control and his time spent in Saro's presence drug up a past that he wished was left better buried...but if it remained locked away, it would have went to the grave with him, no one to know the legacy, the triumph, and in this case...the tragedy of the Shadow Strikers. More or less something to do as opposed to sitting in his dwelling alone and brooding over his visions, he walked the city streets, his destination a small store on the corner that he frequented that was open all hours of the day. Corr took in the sights of the neighborhood, not much to look at, mostly other living complexes, the occasional break in monotony with a vacant lot or site of construction as the Irken Republic remained as prosperous as ever in their diplomatic stance with the universe, a century after the violence and bloodshed that sent tidal waves rippling across the universe. A time that seemed all but forgotten, slowly but surely, various races and peoples of the universe were coming to respect the Irken and even form alliances with them once more.

To Corr, even though their actions then may not have seemed significant beneath the Empire, it still had its consequences and left a mark on the universe. He left the philosophy and reminiscing at the door as he entered the corner market, an electronic bell ringing annoyingly to signal a customer entering. The clerk looked up from filling out paperwork, smiling as he recognized one of his regulars.

"Oh, hey there, Commander...out pretty late compared to usual...can't sleep?"

Corr nods as he searches the refrigerated racks behind a glass door for something to drink.

"You could say that...just have a lot on my mind lately is all."

"Ah, I see, I see...so how's everything going for you over there on-base? Still an academic instructor there, aren't you?"

"Military history, have been since I started there," Corr answered as he sat the bottled drink he wanted on the counter. "How much?"

"3 monies," he politely informed as he keyed the item into the register, waiting for Corr to retrieve some form of payment as two individuals entered the store, one after another, young adult men, barely at that. It happened a bit too quick for him to realize what was going on, finding himself looking down the barrel of a plasma rifle. Corr looked up in time to be shoved violently, falling to the ground in surprise.

"Look out, old man." he sneered as his companion held the rifle of Vortian make up.

"All the monies you got...now."

The clerk, terrified, help his hands up in fright, shaking, and on the verge of panic.

"I said NOW!" He reiterated as he unlocked the safety, shoving the weapon at him.

Corr regained his bearings as he looked up, seeing the two trying to hold up the store...then the rifle. It was nearly an antique by current standards, but was cutting-edge tech 100 years ago, the very same that Vortian soldiers used against them during Impending Doom II. He picked himself up off the ground, the one with the rifle a bit paranoid as he wheeled around, turning it on the retired Commander.

A big mistake on his behalf, or at least prove to be one.

"Don't try anything funny, old man, I'll shoot!"

He wasn't entirely clear of what happened next in all honesty, but once his vision cleared to normality once more, he saw the weapon on the ground away from the two would-be robbers, whom were on the ground, unmoving, the one that had possession of the weapon clearly had a broken arm, the other face down with a small bit of blood pooling from his mouth, the clerk more frightened of Corr now than the actual robbers.

"W-what'd you do to them? I've never seen you move like that before."

He simply pulled a trio of coins from his pocket, setting them on the counter, grabbing his drink, proceeding to leave without another word, hobbling on his cane, quickened at that, knowing full and well what had happened, even if he didn't recall doing it.

"Even after all this time..." he thought to himself unbelievably as he briskly walked with the aid of his cane, the sound of sirens growing in crescendo as security forces approached the store.

"Haxx, on me," Tuu whispered into their comm. link, cloaked from view, their target finally in sight after so much had happened, the sniper of their unit on point, scouting ahead.

"You forget I don't have a gun, Tuu?"

"...fine, Rha, on me," he sighed, muttering to himself, "...he's got the charges to set anyway."

"Understood, on the move," he responded, jogging across the open terrain in the dusky light of evening, nearly invisible to the naked eye. The manufacturing facility stood before them, a towering monolith of Vortian military prowess…soon to be reduced to nothing but smoldering rubble if all went well in their assignment.

At this point...that was an understatement.

Between being ambushed and pinned by sniper fire, linking up with quite possibly one of the most horrid of Irken in existence and the unit at his questionable command, and the incident involving the civilians in the office complex that they all wished to simply forget, something to go right for once almost seemed too much to ask for.

It didn't matter either way, for it was the life of the soldier to always be dealt less-than-ideally what they wished for...so it seemed in the ranks of the Armada at least.

Rha finally crossed the open terrain, joining Tuu just outside the perimeter of the facility; a metal-ceramic composite wall that may have looked like nothing more than a nuisance was quite resilient. Unless they intended to alert the entire base and then some, blowing a hole through it wasn't the best approach. Just as the Shadow Striker mantra stated, sticking to the shadows and remaining undetected was their best bet, secrecy and surprise their advantage.

"How are we doin' this, Captain?" Haxx questioned, having nothing to do in all honesty, Volx was able to walk on her own once more and he only had his sidearm to consider ranged armament.

"Just like in the simulators, Haxx, nice and quiet like," Corr replied, looking through the rangefinder to see Tuu and Rha in position, getting an "all-clear" signal from the Irken Scout..."you're up, Haxx, hold position until we're all across, and for Irk's sake, stay quiet."

"Yes, Sir," the Sergeant grumbled as Corr always referred to him as a bit of a loudmouth, starting his jog across the terrain to the facility perimeter, invisible to the naked eye, but detectable on various energy source scanners. It was hope on their side that Vortian patrols and guards didn't have the equipment to detect them.

One-by-one, the black and red uniforms of the Shadow Strikers was all accounted for, awaiting further orders as Corr, who had taken impromptu command in lieu of the Commander's lack of speaking, simply acting without a sound. In truth, it had put all of them on edge. Vult was easily the most level-headed, calm, and collected soldier any of them had ever met, even compassionate and understanding to a degree of friend and foe alike, to see such a...wild blood rage from such an individual was most shocking. So much so, the perpetrator of it was in silence himself.

His stability in terms of sanity was in question, but no one dared say anything out loud on the matter, especially in such a critical moment. It was a time to simply continue forward, regardless of their personal matters, and put the mission first above all. Corr overlooks the squad, doing a quick headcount to make sure he's not missing anyone before handing out orders.

"We're sticking to the plan on this one, no screw-ups, either," he started off, hoping to get any wandering attention back. "We've come this far, quite a bit behind enemy lines I might add, we've come under fire on a few occasions and no one's been able to bail us out. Let's show Command we've been busting our _c'hurtas_ to make this happen and get Grimm off our backs, okay?"

"Captain, that's nice and all...but what's the plan?" Haxx queried, getting an elbow from Volx to shut up.

"Knock it off, both of you," He sternly ordered, wary of his voice. Even under closed communication from helmet-to-helmet, anyone hacking their frequency or even in close proximity could still hear them. "Plan's simple, scale the wall, Rha is going to plant charges at vital supports, the deeper he can get to the base, the more effective the damage will be and destroying this thing." He thinks for a moment, looking them all over before pointing to Haxx "Sergeant, you're with Rha, help him plant charges, get it done twice as fast."

"What about the rest of us, Captain?" Volx calmly asked of her superior.

"Everyone else is providing security and overwatch while he does his thing." Corr answers, looking down at the time on his clock. "We need to get into position before Saro and his men attack as a diversionary ploy to take heat off of us. This doesn't mean take your time, sooner we're in and out, the better. Everyone clear?"

A series of nods or thumbs up came forth from those present, save for Commander Vult, who was idly studying the ground at Corr's side.

"Alright, up and over, move it out," Corr continued in command, setting a single boot against the wall, the magnetic polarity of the sole sensing the material and angle, shifting to create an attraction, literally allowing whomever wore them to walk up steep, even vertical surfaces. They were another handy tool their unit had at their disposal, allowing them to quietly and discreetly scale the defensive wall between them and their objective.

Corr cued his radio, putting aside what had taken place earlier, focusing solely on the mission, knowing the Vortian Nightmare as he had been infamously known upon Vort and other various colonies elsewhere, would get his due. "Captain, we are on approach to the objective, ETA 4 minutes."

"Your precious Commander not recovered from his little episode yet?" Saro's disgusting voice smugly sneered in reply, chuckling faintly. The man truly was atrocious in existence.

"I am in command at the moment, Captain, that is all you need to worry about." Corr quickly responded, wary of his tone to not entice Saro, "confirm that we are on approach and remain on task."

"So all of you have sucked it up and started acting like soldiers finally…about time," Saro commented in his usual demeanor, "you've got 2 minutes before we start this party, so best of luck." He added sarcastically before ending the conversation.

Corr was beginning to understand. Between the Captain's actions and the way he spoke…he wasn't surprised at all that Vult of all people had assaulted him and ripped an eye from his socket, in fact, the question begged to know why he hadn't finished the job then and simply killed him, ridding the universe of such a vile cretin. Even by Irken standards, he was a monster, nearly a disgrace to his people if not for his blind and utter loyalty to an unhealthy, sickening even, point.

It didn't matter, Saro and his unit were nothing more than Irken Elite they were required to work in conjunction with on this assignment, nothing more. After this, they would part ways and hopefully never see one another again. Given the mission report that was going to be written up in regard to the events and conduct, Corr hoped Grimm would see to it that they were kept from Vult and company as far apart as possible.

Corr hopped down from scaling the wall, now on the other side with his comrades, all had taken up position, invisible to the naked eye, kneeling in a fanned-out semi-circle to watch one another's back, rifles at the ready. As planned, he signaled for Vard to begin hacking, taking defensive parameters down one-by-one, knocking them offline, as well as putting them in the dark. Complete and utterly disconnected from the Vortian battle network, no chance to call for reinforcements. More or less to show off and throw a hint of confusion, he killed the power, forcing the facility into emergency standby, as per protocol, unlocking every single entry point throughout.

On cue, a flurry of hand signals and motions sent the team into action in dead silence, moving as swift as they were lethal, and an entity barely tangible in terms of an opponent to confront. It was nearly impossible to effectively combat an enemy that could not be seen, barely heard if at all, and through superior tactics, provided firepower that was the equivalent of an entire company 100 strong…all from a mere ten sporting the cutting-edge in terms of technology and armament.

Yet another application to put it all to good use in the name of the Empire...something all of them were slowly growing to detest as time went on.

Meanwhile, Saro kept an eye on the mission timer on his wrist, watching every single second count down, holding his other hand up, preparing to give a signal. Just as he had said to Corr….2 minutes.

"5…4…3…" he muttered under his breath as the remaining soldiers in his unit that sported heavy weaponry such as guided rockets, targeting the outer wall, looking up. "2…1…"

No sooner than the signal was given, thunderous blasts echoed as a quartet of missiles fired in near unison, exploding violently on the outer perimeter wall of the facility. They immediately garnering attention of the guards present as the intensity of the firefight ensued, quickly escalating into a fervent exchange of plasma fire igniting the twilight sky with brilliant glows of blue and magenta, casting light from the energy-based projectiles, the klaxon alarms of the facility sounding. Searchlights mounted upon the buildings quickly fixated upon the Irken Elite's positions, further intensifying the focus upon them. Keeping his head down as best he could as the firefight between Irken and the defending Vortian, he cues his radio on Vult's unit.

"Things are getting hot up here, wrap it up."

Quietly, the Captain Corr that he despised at his defiant attitude towards him responded in a whisper.

"Standby…"

"You've got thirty seconds to get out of there before we pull back, expendable or not, I'm not losing anymore soldiers. Got a war to fight, not smeetsit all of you."

Rolling his eyes at Saro's lack of regard for their well-being, sighing briefly, "Understood, maintain radio silence," He replies, closing the channel as the unit was at two different ends of the basement of the structure where the building supports were located, providing overwatch while Rha continued setting explosive charges, looking over his shoulder in whisper between their helmet comm. links.

"How we doing, Rha?"

"Almost…done, Sir," He responds as he adjusts the frequency to the remote detonation to make sure all of the charges go off at the exact, precise moment. "…I assume Captain Saro's wanting to tuck antenna and run to leave us hanging, correct?"

"Indirectly, yes, sooner you finish, quicker we can get out of ground zero and level this place." Corr added, changing over to the second fire team of the squad Volx had commandeered while separated, "…Volx, status?"

"…last charge planted, Captain, ready to extract, awaiting orders."

"Regroup on Saro's position and provide support until we are clear of the structure."

"Yes, Sir, moving out." Volx responded, cutting the channel as she prepared to give the various hand signals to order half of their unit beneath her command as of current to follow the orders given.

Rha clicks the last of the switches into place, a small red light flashing, informing those he were aware that the charge was armed and planted, ready to detonate, "That's all of them, Sir, all the supports are rigged to blow on your command."

"Good, let's get the Irk out of here then," Corr ordered, quietly in a partial crouch beginning to retrace their steps to leave the facility, his unit and commanding officer in tow, one who was yet to speak or give an order after losing control and killing the civilians, muttering under his breath and off the squad channel, "…sooner the better…had enough field time for one campaign."

For once, things seemed to be going in their favor after flawlessly planting all the explosive ordnance on the facility, cloaked and keeping a wary eye out as they are topside again as the firefight between the Irken invaders and the Vortian regulars present continues, the holes blown in the walls by Saro's men in their line-of-sight. Corr turns to his stacked-up soldiers, Vult included behind him on the wall.

"Alright, get ready to book it on my command, cloaked or not, I'd rather not take a stray bolt, I'm sure none of you don't want to either. Rha, soon as we're clear and linked back up with the others, do it."

Rha nods with a thumb up, Vult, Rem, and Tuu preparing the footing to take off at the drop of Corr's orders. Waiting until a group of Vortian soldiers dashed by, more than likely reinforcing the line against Saro's men, Corr gives the motion as he dashes, hopping up and over the rubble present as the others follow closely in tow through the torrent of plasma being exchanged between the opposing factions, crossing the small bit of open ground between Saro's position and the facility.

Just as Corr turned to check their status, a live Vortian grenade impacted into the soft soil, mere feet away from the sprinting squad, cursing the enemy soldier responsible for, more than likely due to a bad throw on their behalf.

"Scatter, grenade!" Corr ordered, diving on his stomach, hoping to be far enough away from the explosion, all but Rha following suit as he was regretfully blindsided by the blast, throwing him off of his feet, detonator still clutched in his hand…and depressed from falling upon it on his side.

"Rha's down!" Rem announced as she rolls him over, seeing his armor and uniform peppered and shredded with shrapnel, but no glaring wounds save for a few minor scratches here and there…he was very fortunate, groaning as he tried sitting up.

"Mother of Irk...am I hit?" He stated disoriented in his current state, patting his body where he took the brunt of the impact, noting the shards of shrapnel sticking out of his armor that saved his life.

Vult helped haul him to his feet, "Negative…keep going!" He ushered, surprising them at the first words he had said since the incident, but the sense of urgency as Corr looked up to the facility as it groaned and buckled, it was clearly shifting and moving…it was coming down as planned, just a little sooner than they liked.

Saro had heard the hollow, muffled sounds of explosions, the structure shifting and beginning to fall…with them in such close proximity, waving frantically to his soldiers as he got to his feet, ignoring the too-close-for-comfort of incoming fire. "Cease fire, cease fire! On your feet, move out, get the Irk out of here, now!"

"Oh _ikveda _me…" Haxx commented as he watched the rest of his unit amongst Saro's Irken Elite, awaiting as instructed, his comrades-in-arms running to escape the falling debris as the building toppled, collapsing in on itself, quickly at that, yelling "It's coming down, get out of there!"

Corr and company were already aware of that fact as they sprinted as fast as their legs would carry them, Vult and Rem essentially pulling Rha along in his dazed state, the others ahead of the three of them. The Commander refused to leave anyone behind, and despite what raged on in his own mind, his soldiers…essentially his family as close knit as they had become, always came first…he'd give his life without question or remorse to save each and everyone one of them. They needed him as much as he needed them, he needed to put his personal issues and thoughts on hold and prioritize what was important…his unit.

His thoughts where jarred on the matter as a plasma bolt grazes his leg at the knee, crippling him momentarily in pain to the point of falling forward, releasing Rha, and falling face first. Everything instinct and thought in his mind told him to get back up and keep running, the looming superstructure that they brought down and was still in the process of doing so was coming down, quickly at that, and he was right in the line of fire. Corr checked once more to see Vult down, trying to get back to his feet.

"Commander!" He called out to him, preparing to reverse direction and help his comrade and commanding officer, a confliction of his own going through his mind, one all Irken Elite and soldiers of the Armada were told to live by…and to die by… "…for the good of the mission". They all knew it well, further mentioned as Vult waved to him as he struggled to get to his feet at the searing pain in his knee, knowing a nerve had to have been struck for such a trivial wound to hurt so much.

"Get everyone clear, go!"

Swallowing as he made his decision then and there, knowing both had their consequences, both positive and negative, but he didn't wish to endanger himself or those beneath his command any more than they currently were…he continued sprinting with the others, trying to catch up as Shadow Striker and Irken Elite alike were dashing as if they were mad to escape the soon-to-be ground zero of the manufacturing facility.

Falling debris that was far too close for comfort dictated the direction in which he hobbled with his injured knee, the shadow of the ever approaching mass of collapsing concrete and metal didn't help matters any in assuring he was safe or not.

Nearly a full city block away in the Vortian metropolis by now in their full sprint, Corr slows to backpedal, watching as the building crashed down into the landscape. It sent clouds of debris and dirt into the air, thick enough to blot out the sun in places…but no sign of Vult.

Haxx, breathless as he neared Corr, looking back as well as he came to a stop before his current superior.

"Wh-…where's Vult?

Corr simply looks on…it wasn't possible…the man had taught them anything and everything they knew about being the finest example of military prowess that the Armada had to offer…he was their mentor…in some ways, their father in the concept of family.

"Corr…where's the Commander? He was right behind you." Haxx pressed for the answer, more or less confirmation to convince himself that he didn't watch what he thought took place…it wasn't possible.

The man in question found himself in a bad spot, the last individual he saw was Saro…then the sun darkening as rubble fell in great commotion…everything went black.


	22. Picking Up the Pieces

Settling dust, fractured rubble and stone skittering in the haze of the cloud of dirt and debris stirred up, it was a scene of disaster from a civilian standpoint, but the mounded pile that severed several city blocks in two that was the remnants of the manufacturing facility was a thing of beauty to the Irken Empire. A crushing blow had been dealt to the Vortian war machine by a select few of the Armada's finest, almost guaranteeing that the front would shift in favor of the Irken with less hardware making it there…but it had come at a cost.

"Commander, respond, what's your status?" Corr called into his helmet comm., trying to raise their commanding officer, "Vult, please respond!"

The rest of the unit had gotten clear of the debris, but the damage wrought was clear as the cloud was settling, piles of fractured masonry and steel buries many smaller buildings for a few blocks easily. Volx tugged on the Captain's belt to get his attention being noticeably shorter.

"We need to get going, Sir…Vort regulars are sure to swarm on the area, we need to get out of here before we get surrounded. Vard already gave Command a sitrep."

He sighed, knowing he had to take command and order them so, the longer he dwelled here, the more jeopardy he put everyone else in. Half-tempted to order everyone to begin picking through the rubble to find him where he last saw Vult, he gives the silent hand signal for everyone to move out in patrol formation, "…come on…still have a war to win. Move out."

Though silent, everyone present in the unit was more than agreeing with Corr's mindset, noting the Irken Elite that were still on their feet and amongst the living to move, there was a particular individual that wasn't present, either. The Vortian Nightmare's right-hand man of sorts, his second-in-command was looking around as the fatigued bunch of soldiers began shuffling along to move out as well and make it back to Empire-occupied territory.

"…where's the Captain?"

Time passed, minutes gave unto hours, and later, well into the twilight hours or the evening. Save for the occasional shifting of rubble and the gentle wind, the area was oddly serene and silent, all except the distant ambience of battle as it continued to rage on the Vortian homeworld in its attempt to defend itself from the oppression of the Irken Empire. A former sprawling modern metropolis pristine and near-utopian in comparison to Irk's utilitarian and lifeless palette, Vort and its people were slowly seeing the beginning of the end of their reign as a free species. Their invading aggressors were void of emotion and at the pinnacle of biomechanical technology to further assist them in laying waste to all their people held dear. Their culture…their honor…they would be no more in due time, no matter how many Irken soldiers fell to their guns.

Distant echoes of firefights raging across the planet accompanied the symphony of a dying people and planet as they knew it. Vortian Defensive Forces in the area had long since moved on from the day's earlier traumatic failure. The line faltered without the support provided by the now-decimated factory. The battle was lost, holding their ground would be futile on such terms against the likes of the Empire. The Irken Elite and their unorthodox accompaniment of Spec Ops soldiers had accomplished their mission much to their dismay. Their success, however, had come at a steep price.

…or so assumed.

A sputtering cough, labored with pain and grit struggled for breath. An all-over ache of exhaustion and bruising throbbed at the surface of his emerald skin. Tired eyes behind his shattered visor fluttered open, only to be greeted by encompassing darkness. Was this death? Had he failed in his mission and returned to Processing for selection into a new PAK? No…it couldn't be. The pain was still present. His knee the worst culprit…he had been shot only moments before an entire building came crashing down atop him.

Wound aside…he was alive and on Vort…certainly to major pluses to be optimistic about.

Taking a moment to regain his bearings, mentally blocking out what pain his PAK's medical suites could not filter through sedatives and painkillers, his gaze panned up and down, to and fro. Establishing he was alive, albeit injured and seeing better days, the next step was to get free of his impromptu tomb. Vort would not be his grave, most certainly not a coffin made of twisted metal and broken concrete sprinkled with shattered glass.

His attention landed on a pinhole of light…a way out. Focused with renewed vigor, ignoring the protest of his worn and battered body, he pulled himself up inch-by-inch, navigating the treacherous terrain of rubble. One errant shift of the wrong piece of debris and all his efforts would be for naught. What miraculous, protective cocoon that managed to form would cave in, taking him with it. Carefully, three-digit hands firmly grasped solid bits of stone and steel, climbing closer and closer towards the shaft of light.

Squinting as the first of the fading day's rays shone directly on his weary, filthy face, he pushed on, clawing at the pinhole of light. Slowly, but steadily, the hole grew and grew. With it, more light filtered in. It was only then Vult realized just how much time had passed. Their mission had expired hours ago…several hours at that. Yet another violent, blood-soaked day on Vort as the war raged across the planet was drawing to a close.

As the Commander emerged from his artificial sarcophagus, wary of his surroundings, his mind raced as he came to terms with what transpired. The facility was no more, a resounding success of his unit in conjuncture with Captain Saro's Irken Elite…Saro…the civilians…it all came rushing back like a tidal wave. Shaking his head free of the frantic screams and panic of those caught in his path, Vult forced himself to bury it for the time being. He had more pressing matters to contend with.

"...it has been hours…I didn't expect any of them to expose themselves for my sake to only find a mangled corpse," He mentally lulled over, carefully navigating the mounds of rubble. Exposed, alone, and with night falling fast, he needed to find secure shelter before any Vortian soldiers found him. "…no rifle…no sidearm…my helmet is damaged, with it, comms and navigation…deep in enemy territory and all alone…nothing I haven't trained for or expected…"

Remaining calm was vital. Panicking would only earn him the expected fate of death. Either a quick and painless one via a well-placed gunshot…or risking capture and interrogation for a slow and antagonizing demise at the hands of the very species his superiors sought to conquer. Neither was terribly appealing to the Commander in the slightest. Putting his situation into perspective cleared his mind in favor of analytical thinking. He was alive, drawing breath on his own power and unharmed save for a healing graze of a gunshot on the outside of his right knee.

Carefully navigating the strewn rubble, mangled metal, and broken glass, the displaced Shadow Striker masked his movements. Light on his feet and moving swiftly from cover-to-cover, he refused to remain out in the open for longer than necessary. Regardless of his unit's actions that brought the structure down, enemy forces could still be in the area.

Odds stacked against him aside, Vult took solace in night falling fast. The cover of darkness would work to his advantage, his only ally of the moment. Something the Shadow Striker took pride in. The ability to move unseen, unheard, and undetected…when armed and equipment wasn't malfunctioning. With no other choice, he had to press on without his cloak and other gear damaged in the collapse. It was fortunate a vital aspect of their continued training beneath his guidance was to never fully rely on technology. A good soldier did not use his gear as a crutch, but to enhance inane ability. The Commander only hoped his was sharpened enough to see him through.

Lacking his combat mask through the dust-choked air that continued to settle long in the aftermath, his throat threatened to retaliate with a cough. Unhindered by the faint discomfort of his spooch breathing tainted vapors, Vult's azure eyes locked onto an object a few short feet away. With renewed vigor, he approached, realizing just how fortunate his luck had just changed.

Partially buried and protruding was a standard-issue Vortian plasma rifle. Typical of their military, compact, lightweight, simple in design and operation, it took all of a few minutes to instruct even a civilian on using it effectively. Blocky and rectangular with a retractable, sliding stock, it had a distinct look to it. The Empire knew and understood its foes' armaments well. That went doubly-so for the Shadow Strikers. Unlike Spec Ops that refused to lay hands on enemy weapons, Vult and his unit were not going to pass up opportunity.

Moving a few chunks of concrete and twisted rebar, he unearthed the rifle. It had seen better days, but to be expected being caught in the maelstrom that was the building collapse. Being remotely functional at this point was all the Commander asked for. However, it did not come free with a simple tug. Perplexed at the resistance, Vult inspected further by leaning to look under the weapon.

Clinging coldly to the rifle's grip was its former owner, a Vortian soldier given his tattered and bloodied uniform exposing grey skin and similarly-constructed three-digit claws. Unfazed by the sight as he remained in survival mode, Vult unceremoniously pried the soldier's unfeeling hand from it to lay claim to the foreign rifle.

"…I need this more than you do now," He concluded in thought, remaining ever-vigilant as he checked the weapon. Full power-cell…sights in alignment. It wasn't pretty, but it'd work. Something was better than nothing. He wasn't about to look a gift-beast in the mouth.

Rearmed and vertical, the Irken nestled the stock into his shoulder, weapon at-the-ready to engage if spotted. For now, he sought nothing more than to make it back to friendly forces without incident. This far behind enemy lines and alone, the last thing he favored was fighting against overwhelming numbers and superior firepower.

As Vult came to terms with his unfortunate predicament, Captain Corr and company solemnly soldiered on. The grim precession moved in patrol formation in front of the remnants of Saro's company of Irken Elite. Even hours after the fact, after a supposedly successful mission, none of the 9 surviving members of the Shadow Strikers could bring themselves to be pleased with their service and duty to the mighty Empire. The cost had been far too great.

"...I can't believe he's gone," Aero muttered, wincing and limping along with her tender ribs plaguing her still. Saro's sadistic actions hadn't helped matters any.

"Aero, please...don't." Sula softly responded, not wanting to chastise her friend on a fresh and painfully sensitive subject. It had been a long, terribly awful day, losing composure and mourning the loss of their commanding officer would do them no improvement on morale.

The taller, fully-matured female all-but-rounded on the Medical Officer. Behind her opaque visor of animosity, her brow furrowed in a combination of anger and guilt, neither of which enjoyed by the mechanic.

"So that's just it then, huh? He's gone and we move on just like that?" She all but demanded of the meek woman. Like a frightened mouse at the adamant response, her gaze shifted away and towards the ground, exhaling shakily with a reaffirmed grip on her rifle. Anything to take her mind off of Vult's death and Aero's scathing questions.

"N-no...that isn't what I meant...I.." She managed, her overtly curly antenna drooping further down in her face in shame.

"Back off, Aero," Haxx surprisingly stepped in, briefly breaking formation to catch up to the taller female in front of him, acting as an organic wall between her and Sula. "It's not her fault, it's no one's...don't you remember what he always said? This is our job, it's what we do. Someone has to do it and it's us. We did it, risks aside, and we will keep doing it. Me, you, Sula, and everyone all know that. I know it hurts...hurts bad...but taking it out on each other isn't going to change the fact that he's gone. We keep doing what we do...we move forward. He's not forgotten, he lives on through all of us..."

As touching as his words were to the unit as a whole, Aero had nothing of it in her grief-stricken mind. Huffing incredulously with a forced, sarcastic laugh, changing her focus to the unarmed Heavy Weapons specialist.

"Not anyone's fault, huh? What were you paying attention to other than the Lieutenant's _c'hurta_?" She spat, gesturing to Corr leading on-point with her unarmed hand. "...Corr could've saved him. He was RIGHT there! Ran back, picked him up, drug him, anything...but he didn't. He tucked antenna and ran with us. You can bet _I _would have went back for him without a second though."

"...then you would have joined him in death, Sergeant," The accused Captain plainly spoke, lacking malice in defense through their helmet radios. His tone alone seemed to simmer any boiling-over attitudes from Aero and company. "...Hate me if you must, but I considered it...I wanted to...and in that moment, I chose survival over heroics. Am I a coward for wanting to make sure as many of us made it out alive in my duties to honor him? Maybe, maybe not...that is something for my conscience to determine..."

Pausing momentarily, he turned while keeping pace, looking over his shoulder back at his squadmates...his unit now in the wake of the Commander's passing.

"...I was the last one to see him before the facility came down...I watched with my own two eyes in that moment as he was taken by the tidal wave of stone and metal... He told me to get you all clear of the same fate…to protect everyone else over him. Like Sergeant Haxx said...all we can do is push on and move forward. There is nothing we can do for the Commander now other than ensure his death wasn't in vain and we take this wretched rock in due time."

As Corr finished addressing them, merely turning his head to face forward once more, the Mechanic's head lowered in shame realizing she was upset and passing blame everywhere imaginable, anything to alleviate the heavy pain of loss hanging on her heart. In her own selfish emotions, she hadn't considered how their second-in-command felt. Corr witnessed it all first-hand...to look into Vult's eyes just as the cascading rubble consumed him. She understood how tight a bond Corr shared with him being groomed for the possibility of this very moment becoming an unwanted reality.

"...'m sorry, Captain, I didn't th-" She finally mustered, digging deep for humility in spite of how quick she was to accuse moments ago.

"Think nothing of it, Aero," Corr assured solemnly, "I understand, you need not explain yourself to me. As trying as this is, we will overcome it. It is our duty...it is what the Commander would want of us. We have come this far together, we will continue to do so unto our dying breaths. It is how he would want it."

Spoken or otherwise, the consensus among the Shadow Strikers seemed to be in agreement. They hadn't been selected randomly. Vult chose them based on their expertise and ability to survive...ability to overcome. They would overcome this just like any other challenge placed before them. As personal and deeply-demoralizing as it was to be struck where it hurt most, where no armor could defense or weapon could protect them...they would prevail.

Desiring an immediate change of subject, even if to momentarily forget the casualty of the day, Haxx cleared his throat in preparation to speak. With Volk's leg slowly but surely healing to the point of her to limp on and without his primary weapon, he was thankful for an uneventful evening. Tired from bearing the burden he sowed himself and unable to effectively fight off any enemy save for a borrowed sidearm, Haxx was effectively spent and useless. Not that he minded in the slightest assisting his ally. Despite his mistakes and grievous lack of oversight that got on others' nerves…he was dependable. Not the brightest, nor most respectful, but he could be relied on in the thick of things when it mattered most. Everything valued in a soldier…not so much off-the-clock when forced to be around him in enclosed quarters.

"...yeah, well, for your information, I wasn't starin' at nobody's _c'hurta..._Volx has been a pain in mine carting her around like some beast of burden, just so you know." He commented with a smirk, only to jump at the force and sound of a sizable chunk of stone flung hard at the back of his helmet. Wheeling around, it didn't take long to determine the culprit as the shorter female in question. He could almost feel her oily black glare from behind her visor. "Hey, I was kiddin', seriously! Small as you are though, it wouldn't hurt to lose a few pounds."

Rem, much like her squadmates, had been silently somber up until now…up until Haxx continued to press his luck and Volx's buttons at the same time. It was painfully obvious as to why he was doing it, they all knew. She masked a stifled laugh nevertheless. His boldness was only matched by his stupidity. A byproduct of that happened to be humor even in the darkest of moment.

Moments like this is what Vult would have wanted to continue in his passing.

"…suppose there's one thing we can be somewhat thankful for…" Rha hesitantly began, garnering the group's attention as they marched on, destined back for friendlier places in control of the Empire.

"Being optimistic is always a plus in times like this," Vard added timidly as his tiny legs waddled along, barely able to keep pace with his much taller company. "…it helps…a little…sometimes." He added nervously before gesturing to the scarred Demolitions Expert. "…c-carry on, sorry for interrupting."

Offering the short Communications Technician a faint smirk of assurance in not minding, Rha continued.

"As I said…we can be thankful for one thing coming from all of this," he continued, trying his best to lighten the mood.

"Please, do tell," Rem pursued, speaking for the consensus in an incessant manner. As hilarious as it was to watch Haxx get smacked around by a female half his height, she favored more engaging conversation.

"…Saro didn't come out alive, either. The price was high, but lookin' at it that way…that _vodeto _got what was comin' to him…At least we can go on knowing the Commander didn't go alone and managed to take out that vile _ikvedo c'hurato_ with him in company."

"Yeah, no kiddin'" Aero huffed, her blood boiling at the mere mentioning of his name. "I know we aren't the most cuddly-cutesy types of people in the universe, but I am almost ashamed to be Irken knowing Saro is one, too. After what he said…how he treated us…what he did to the Commander…to me…I hope his death was as slow and antagonizing as possible just to feel an ounce of the unnecessary pain and suffering he's caused others. Maybe some of Vort's critters are pecking out his only organic eye socket now as we speak." She mused, almost taking solace in knowing that disgusting man was taken by the same debris their commanding officer was.

Such morbid, dark thoughts coming from the cheeriest and notoriously optimistic, carefree spirit among them did not go unnoticed. While disturbing, even they could find common ground to agree on with her.

"…do you really think he's dead though?" Vard innocently questioned as he peered towards the much taller, fully-matured female of the unit.

"Well, yeah…he's got to be…if the Commander was taken by it, so would he. No way that jerkface is as tough as him," the Mechanic responded, her confidence waning slightly at the mere notion that through some means, even sheer stubbornness alone that notorious soldier surviving sent chills down her spine.

"…right?"

As the Shadow Strikers dragged themselves back towards friendlier territory in somber morale, their commanding officer was alive and well. "Well" being relative and alive quite possibly a temporary arrangement with the factors in play. As resourceful as ever, Vult did not hesitate to pilfer any spare ammunition for his borrowed rifle of enemy origin. Knowing prior to the operation of what sort of enemy strength was to be expected, it was unsurprising to find dozens of twisted, mangled Vortian corpses among the debris. Some protruding like grotesquely-planted flowers. Others barely visible with single limbs extended as if clawing at one last vain attempt of survival, forever frozen in the moment. Such a horrible way to die.

Vult was yet to determine if surviving the ordeal was a good thing or not given the circumstances. Surrounded by nothing but dead Vortian soldiers with naught but a stolen weapon and his intuition to rely on, the odds did not favor him. Nothing but gray-tinged, violet-blooded limbs and antenna kept him company. Wait...antenna? Yes, it was antenna! Irken antenna! Zeroing in on the break in monotony like a hawk, the Commander rushed forward as fast as his feet would quietly carry him.

A multitude of thoughts washed over his stress-wracked, fatigued mind. Was it one of his own? One of his 9 hand-selected soldiers he poured so much time, energy, and effort into honing to near-perfection? One of his brothers-in-arms he prided camaraderie over quantity with an individualized and personal approach? The thought of them losing their leader would have been devastating enough, but anymore was far too great. The sick feeling in his spooch only grew all the stronger at there mere notion.

"No...no, no, no...please, no," Vult played over and over in his mind as he magnetically secured the Vortian plasma rifle to his back before dropping to his knees and furiously digging at the rubble near the protruding stalks of barbed black. Plain in appearance with angled barbs, the Commander determined they belonged to a male Irken...optimistically, it meant Aero, Sula, Volx, and Rem survived...or he assumed so and hoped to Irk that was the case.

Before losing his mind to "what ifs", his efforts paid off finally. Gripping one last, large piece of crumbling stone, Vult gave it a mighty lift, heaving it off to the side. Somewhat winded from his frantic digging, all he could do was look down in disbelief and awe at what he saw...at who he saw.

Saro.

The sadistic Captain seemed no worse for wear other than a series of minor scratches and bruises from being buried. Alive, was yet to be determined. Then and there, the Commander lulled over his options. To even bother with the man responsible for driving him into a blind rage and harming innocent civilians...to attempt to resuscitate him in any capacity after directly harming Aero. The constant belittling, taunting, and false sense of superiority through insults combined with irrefutable witnessing of atrocities by his hands...Vult honestly considered going on without even bothering to check for vital signs. A small part of him, the deep-seeded rage that only Saro knew how to drag out kicking and screaming into the light within the normally reserved and humble Commander wanted to take some enjoyment in the Captain's fate. To know one of the worst Irken to ever draw breath had finally been silence.

Then again, logically, together they would have a better chance of making it back to safer pastures. Even Vult was not so cold and heartless to leave a fellow Irken soldier up dookie creek without a paddle...even if that soldier happened to be the infamous Captain Saro of the Irken Elite. Leaving him to his fate, should he even be alive and ever awake would have made him no better. In the end...Saro would have still won by compromising his moral compass.

Reluctantly with a sigh, Vult leaned forward over Saro's supine form in his concrete coffin, pressing a single digit of his right hand to the Captain's throat. A pulse...steady, not weak, not strong...but steady. Alive...unfortunately. Despite hating the man with every fiber of his mortal coil, he was not going to pass up the opportunity to give himself an evening advantage over the Vortian soldiers in the area. Saro was many things...many horrible things, but he was still a highly-trained soldier of the Irken Elite. A competent leader, not so much...arrogant and prideful, yes...but a trained killer, most certainly.

Moving his hand to Saro's shoulder, Vult gripped, giving him a forceful shake.

"...Saro..." He spoke, his tone low and hushed, wary of any enemy soldiers in the vicinity overhearing him. With another insisting shake with more force, his tone grew equally so, "Saro, Get up."

Surprisingly enough, with his uniform torn and tattered, emerald bloodstains, and the matching scratches and scrapes about his form, the Captain stirred faintly with a groan. Breathing and responsive...of all the Irken to survive a building being dropped on them, it had to be the one he hated the most.

"Whhaaa...whaaaat..." Saro blearily responded, squinting with effort to focus on the figure hovering over him in the gloom of darkness. "...wwho are you? What's going on?"

Vult gave him another forceful shake. Responding with a firm grasp of the Commander's hand, Saro threw it off with a furrowing of his brow in annoyance.

"Enough! I am awa-" He managed before Vult's hand clasped over his mouth tightly.

"Shut your _ikveda _mouth," the Commander hissed, looking over his shoulders, ever-vigilant. "...story time later. Right now, I need you off your _c'hurta _and on your feet. We need to get out of here before a patrol finds us."

Finally coming to and fully alert, recent memories came flooding back. Working with Vult and his "special" unit at the beck-and-call of the Almighty Tallest...the factory...and the ensuing destruction of said factory. It was early afternoon when that happened though...now it is nightfall...how long had he been unconscious? With his company of Irken Elite nowhere to be found, likewise for Vult's misfit parade of smeet-brained defectives, the reality of the situation quickly settled in. A smug smirk of satisfaction tugged at the sharpened corners of the Captain's mouth.

"...so you can't make it back without my help, is that is?"

Unamused at Saro's lack of courtesy when he could have just as easily left him buried and to his fate at Vortian hands, Vult stood to his feet with a stonily-set glare, quite visible with his ruined battle mask and visor.

"Differences aside, now is not the time for this," Vult made abundantly clear, unkindly tossing a second Vortian plasma rifle into his spooch, audible knocking the wind from Saro's body. "...if you want to make it out of here alive, come with me and follow my lead. Otherwise, stay here and take your chances. Those are your options."

Almost physically disgusted as the foreign piece of military equipment was thrust into his hands...how could Vult so willingly soil his hands with inferior technology of their enemies? It was degrading...but...seeing how he lost his own rifle in the collapse, beggars couldn't be choosers. Slowly standing to his feet, with a brief dusting off of his tattered uniform, Saro drew a deep, irritated breath.

"I never took you as one for ultimatums with your bleeding spooch for our enemies," Saro scoffed, sighing as he checked the power-cell of his rifle, ensuring Vult wasn't setting him up for death with an empty magazine. "...with my options limited, I suppose we have a mutual goal of survival...for now. I could just as easily make it back by myself without you." He boldly proclaimed as he shoved past the Commander with a shoulder into his form.

Ignoring the unnecessary physical contact from Saro, Vult merely turned with it, narrowing his icy azure glare at the overzealous Irken. Keeping his comments to himself for the time being, the Commander chose silence until the pair made their way out of the rubble-strewn streets and into more clear, level terrain. The urban environment didn't offer a lot of choice with narrow corridors of glass and steel…deathtraps to any force movements, ripe for ambush. Vortians maliciously exploited Empire tactics by picking off soldiers from the buildings with guerilla-style tactics…the same tactics Vult and his unit employed with resounding success. The same tactics that the "mighty" Empire was too stubborn or stupid to utilize, favoring a grand show of force with overwhelming, expendable numbers.

As the pair of displaced Irken soldiers, separated from their respective units, found a moment's reprieve in a shrouded plaza of an office building, Vult jogged up after sweeping their rear, ensuring they weren't being followed, grasping the Captain's shoulder.

"Hold up here for a moment," the Commander whispered with an insisting tug on Saro's Irken Elite uniform. Sighing in annoyance with great reluctance, he turned to face the source of his ire.

"What? What is it this time? Why are we stopping?" He demanded, gesturing towards the street. "You said it yourself, we need to get moving before we're discovered…unless you WANT to embrace the filthy horned freaks with open arms. That's treason…you know that, right?" Saro needled with a sadistic smirk.

"We'll get moving soon enough, patience," Vult assured him with a deeper breath, regaining his strength from navigating the treacherous terrain. "…couple of things…assessment of our equipment. My helmet was damaged in the collapse, with it, my communications, navigation, and encryption. None of my long or short-wave transmission gear is responsive. I lost my weapon and procured a couple of Vortian Defense Force rifles…any of your comms responsive?"

Rolling his eyes as if unbelieving a supposed officer of the Armada was so thick to believe their equipment was prone to failure. They were the best, by default, so was their equipment. His radio never failed him before, why would it now?

"Of course they're responsive, you idiot," Saro chided, unceremoniously yanking the device from his belt before looking it over. The protruding shard of metal that formerly reinforced concrete spoke otherwise. "…no matter," He shrugged, tossing the ruined device without incident as if wasted refuse. "We are Irken, the finest soldiers the universe has ever seen. I'm not going to let a bunch of peace-loving, goat-legged _vodeto _wastes of genetic material intimidate me like you."

"…so I take it you know what direction to go in then, do you?" Vult pursued deadpan and lacking amusement by his theatrics and abuse of Empire property. The query alone seemed to deflate Saro's throbbing ego on the spot as he wheeled around, daring the Commander to speak further on the matter.

"Are you implying I don't know how to navigate, _Commander_?" He sarcastically addressed. "Of course I know where I am…we're behind enemy lines and we need to find…less hostile surroundings."

Vult strongly resisted the urge to clasp his face in aggravation at his sheer stupidity only masked by bravado. Headstrong and arrogant, like a typical Irken…a typical, good little drone that the Tallest wanted. It was amazing he survived so long as one of the regulars in the Irken Elite himself.

"…let me worry about that. Nothing finding a functioning communications array and a map won't fix," He finally mustered, struggling to not let pent-up annoyance filter into his tone.

"Yes, yes, I will allow you to feel important," Saro waved off with a smug smirk, his artificial eye projected on a miniature screen, the haphazard replacement to the one the man before him ripped out with his bare hand years prior. "…so there, situation assessed…what else was there that you thought so important to discuss here and now before continuing on?"

"You wounded?"

"As if these pathetic weaklings of a species could hurt me…" Saro scoffed at the notion despite emerging from a concrete tomb thanks to Vult only minutes prior. "…to answer your question, nothing aside from a few minor scratches and brui-"

_WHACK!_

The Irken Elite Captain found himself cut-off mid-sentence with an interruption in the shape of Vult's cybernetic fist crashing into his jaw. Sucker-punched with the force like the Massive itself smashing into his face, Saro quickly found himself dazed in a heap on the ground with the taste of blood thick in his mouth. As the haze of confusion wore off at what had precisely happened, he found himself looking up at Vult, glaring daggers as he maintained contact throughout a turn of his head to spit a shock of collected emerald onto the ground.

"…and secondly, _that_ was for Aero and those civilians," Vult made abundantly clear, "…you want to make something of it, we can. I will move on with or without you, dead or alive…it is nothing compared to what you deserve, but I refuse to stoop to your level for petty revenge. No matter how tall you are, Captain…you will always be beneath me."

Despite striking Saro with force, Vult offered his hand nevertheless to Saro. Naturally, he eyed the gesture with suspicion as he rubbed at the corner of his bleeding mouth. The man had just punched him, now he offered assistance and gratitude? Was this another ploy?

"Stand with me or against me, it's that simple," Vult added at his apprehension, shaking his hand insistently for him to take. "I won't let the likes of you keep me from reuniting with my soldiers. I've come too far and worked too hard to make them into what they are now and watch that all fall apart without me. Your men need you, too. You may not be a good leader as far as I'm concerned, but they think so. That's enough. They need you like my soldiers need me. Get up."

Huffing at his overly jingoistic words, Saro ignored the offered hand up, swatting it away as he collected himself and his rifle.

"…the sooner we do that, the less I see of you…lead on."


	23. Eye for an Eye

"I am afraid that is all I have time for this evening, Cadets," Corr's weathered voice sighed from behind his desk, wearing a weak smile. "Unfortunately even the simplest of things tire me in old age. I envy your youth at times." He added with a chuckle as he stood to his feet.

"What about the Commander and Saro? What happened to them? Did they make it back?" Digits all but pleaded of the retired soldier's tale. He wasn't the only one that was on the edge of his seat wanting to know what happened next.

Never in their young lives had they expected to hear such accounts of bravery shrouded beneath nearly-impenetrable veils of secrecy and conspiracy. It all but blew their collective minds to know their elder...this old, withering Irken...was a former special forces operator. Not just any operator, but a member of an elite sect that was of notoriety and mystery all in the same. Many had heard rumors of the Shadow Strikers, but very few, if any, knew anything beyond that. The Republic never officially confirmed or denied their existence, adding fuel to the fires of conspiracy. Corr's recounting of events only fanned those flames into a roiling inferno for three very lucky Cadets of the Republic Armada Academy.

"Of course they made it back, genius," Joker chided his friend with a rolling of his eyes. "Commandant Vult's statue is out there on the parade grounds...the Republic Armada exists as it is today because of him...just never thought they were one in the same. I mean...the stories about him, not including this one, of course...just how he was...I never imagine him being a black-ops operative."

"The very same element we all used to our advantage," Corr concluded as he hobbled with the aid of his cane for the door. "...enemy and ally alike are at their most vulnerable when taking us for face value."

"Commander Corr?" DZ cautiously began as the trio of friends took the hint that tonight's story time had come to conclusion as they followed after the elder Irken.

"Hmm? Yes...DZ, what is it?"

"...Captain Saro...the Vortian Nightmare..." He hesitantly began, grasping Corr's full attention at the mere utterance of the name. "...why did Vult save him? After everything he's done...after everything's known for...and especially after what he did to Aero and made Vult do what he did...why?"

Silence fell over the quartet of Irken as Corr's gaze drifted elsewhere in the dimly-lit amphitheater of a classroom. A question that he and just about anyone else privy to the subject in the unit had asked themselves many times over. Vult was probably guilty of that as well. Of all the Armada soldiers that could have survived that ordeal with him...it was Saro. After all that wretched excuse of an Irken Elite had done in the name of "glory" for the Tallest...Vult still managed to find the compassion to

"That..." the retired soldier turned instructor began with a small sigh, "...is something only the Commander himself could answer. If I knew where he was or if he was, if he is even still alive...I would likely ask him the same thing just as I did all those years ago. It amazes me still at the great lengths he went to save that man's life despite the atrocities he committed..."

"How can you tolerate these cowardly tactics?" Saro sneered in a hiss as he followed the wretched Commander. "We spent all night moving from one pile or filthy rocks to the next, not a single disgusting freak in sight. If they were anywhere nearby, we would have seen at least one by now. They have pulled back and cower before the Empire's might as we march forward to victory."

The more time Vult spent in the Captain's company, the more difficult it became to not shoot him himself. Certainly frowned upon to kill one's own faction and people that normally resulted in deactivation for treason, the Commander had a feeling that the Control Brains would be inclined to overlook that with leniency if Saro was the victim.

"These tactics are keeping us alive and unseen," Vult plainly spoke as if it were common sense. Saro did not have Spec Ops training, so naturally he was more a traditional soldier in standing his ground and fighting the enemy on even terms. The Shadow Strikers took Spec Ops training and ran an entire marathon with it by including influence elements from elsewhere in the galaxy. Indirect conflict resolution, as it were known as a strategy on paper...out of sight, out of mind, disappear before the smoke clears. Tactics of misdirection, confusion, and sabotage to keep the enemy off-balance and unable to effectively counter-attack or recover. Destroying them before they even became a threat. Simple and sound...such was not the Irken way, unfortunately.

"When are we going to stop and rest? My spooch hungers," Saro declared as he kept pace with Vult's flighty movements. For someone wearing considerably more armor than the average Irken soldier, he did not seem terribly affected by it. "How do you know we are even remotely close to finding this communications array you speak of?"

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Vult forced an exhale to alleviate his stress as he stopped at the next outcropping of building debris in the war-torn street.

"You whine worse than a smeet straight out of the tank," he chastised, "...you can eat all you want once we get back to base. The longer we're out here, in the open, the more likely the chance we'll be spotted. Until then, shut up, suck it up, and watch our six."

Saro scoffed as he stood proudly.

"Please...we have likely been spotted a dozen times by now. Their cowardice affects their aim, they can barely hold weapons as it is, let alone engage one of the mighty Irken Elite...and whatever you consider yourself to be, which is beneath me."

Before Vult could lay into him verbally again in retaliation, the arrogant Captain willingly stepped out of cover, his hands aloft as he turned about in the streets with a smug sense of amusement about his face, daring all to lay eyes on him.

"Attention you inferior, horned wastes of organic matter!," He bellowed in defiance, his voice echoing distant in the sporadic silence only broken up by distant firefights. "I am Captain Saro of the Irken Elite! I have come to eradicate all those that oppose the mighty Empire and enslave those who succumb to the will of the Almighty Tallest! Lay down your weapons and you may live a wonderful life of servitude beneath your lords and masters! Feel the Irken might as I lay waste to your precious homeworld! Those that dare oppose me make yourselves known!"

Vult was awestruck at the sheer stupidity and lack of mental fortitude his Irken Elite counterpart held. The idiot was going to give them away! Entire companies of Vortian regulars would descend on them like an angry swarm of piranha ready to rend flesh from bone with an insatiable appetite for revenge.

Saro refused to return to cover, ignoring the safety provided as he stood in the open still, looking around with his arms outstretched, daring any and all to fire upon him. With an amused huff, his seemingly trademark smirk of arrogance never leaving his twisted maw as he turned back to Vult.

"See? They lack the courage to face us like true warriors...like Irken. Now, can we please move faster than a slorrbeast's pregnant gait since there's nothing but the wind out here?" The Captain requested, dropping his hand to his sides.

No sooner than his gloved and gauntleted hands clasped his thighs with emphasis at Vult, mocking his desire for discretion against their inferior adversaries, a white-hot streak of plasma sliced through the air faster than the eye could track. Slightly bluish in hue and compact, the lance of super-heated gas contained in a charged cloud of electrons found its target a split-second before the deafening crack of a long-range rifle shattered the brief silence between Saro's tirade and the shot itself.

It all happened so quickly, yet was painfully expected by the Commander. After all the commotion his moronic tag-along had attracted. He would be surprised if no fewer than three companies of the Vortian army would descend upon the area and scour every nook and cranny for them. He sat there, crouched safely behind cover as Saro's form fell limp, crumbling in a heap to the ground in silence. The fraction of a second he saw the shot, it likely pierced the Irken Elite Captain's skull…a lethal placement of a shot by a skilled marksman of a supposedly "inferior" species.

Vult faced a dilemma…to check Saro's status despite obvious signs of death with his still body lying in the street, his cybernetic eye strewn in broken shrapnel in a pool of blood and fluids from the device…or to flee the area and seek refuge elsewhere. Some Vortian sniper had did his people a great service and became a hero by killing such a notoriously sadistic Irken plaguing their people…and Vult did not feel terrible or in any way remorseful over the loss. It seemed his decision was made for him already as he cast one final, long look at Saro's body.

"…better you than me, Captain," he thought coldly as he slunk along the makeshift wall of rubble for a way off of the street. With a functioning weapon and distraction in the form of Saro's death by sniper, he may survive yet at his expense. At least his death was not in vain and surely someone in the universe mourned him…or it was quite possible that no one would miss the man in the slightest.

Without so much as a second glance, Vult quickly departed the area in favor of cover, seeking asylum from the formidable opposition that was sure to descend upon the area after all the commotion. His return delayed further thanks to Saro's mouth at the expense of having a second hold in his head to talk through. Only this one spoke nothing but silence as life departed his mortal coil.

"...so you belivin' any of this in the slightest?" Joker question of his compatriots as the trio of Republic Armada Cadets found themselves amidst a long, grueling pack run. Isolated from most of their fellow potential graduates and in the middle of nowhere, there was very little risk of anyone eaves dropping.

"Believe what? Commander Corr's story?" Digits queried in clarification.

"Yeah...I mean, I'm not sayin' that it isn't possibly true...but a lot of it seems awfully coincidental...and stuff."

"Of course I do," Digits quickly answered, focusing on controlling his breathing as his body cried in protest at the immense weight of equipment bearing on his frame. A full, simulated combat load and orders to move non-stop...one of the least enticing parts that the Republic conveniently left off of the recruitment pamphlet. "I've heard rumors around base about the attempted robbery the other night at the corner store…the clerk wasn't too talkative and two armed, healthy men about our age were taken down by an elderly Irken. They're still in critical condition in the hospital if you believe the buzz…c'mon, Joker…connect the dots. Only one man fits that sort of description and capability if it is true."

"I ain't calling the man a liar, just...yo gotta admit, it's a lot to take for face value. He doesn't look like the stone-cold special forces type, even in retirement."

"Hiding in plain sight and being as inconspicuous as possible are staple fundamentals for any level of special forces operators...even black-ops ones," DZ sagely added to the conversation, words recited almost verbatim from the former Shadow Striker the evening before. "Just like what he said last night...the less suspicious and obvious someone looks, the easier it is to operate under adverse conditions. Wisdom to live by if you ever want to get into Special Forces in the Armada."

"I'll pass," Joker chuckled, "I have a hard enough time keepin' secrets as it is...this one excluded of course...I sure as Irk couldn't keep a secret as big as what Corr's sharing with us for over a century and manage to not tell a single living soul."

"I'm sure with the incentive of not being "silenced" in the event of a security leak would be motivation enough to keep your mouth shit," DZ reasoned, his friends nodding silently at that realization. "...you don't thing the Republic would come after Corr after all this time if word got out that he told anyone anything? What's to stop them from doing the same to us?"

"Just like you said," Digits added with a reassuring pat on his comrade's shoulder. "...motivation to keep things to ourselves."

"...one thing's bugging me about his story though, at least up until this point," Joker commented, breaking a brief silence during their strenuous road march. "...Captain Saro...he lived will on after the war and occupation of Vort ended, right? So how is he dead from what Commander Vult stated?"

"He never said he was dead specifically," DZ specified with a stipulating finger. "...Vult _assumed _Saro had bought the farm. I can't blame him though. Rarely, if ever, does anyone survive a gunshot wound to the head. Maybe Saro was one of those "lucky" few to have half their head excavated and the agonizingly painful stubbornness to refuse to die."

Seemingly out of nowhere, their high-and-tight, by-the-book commanding officer, Sergeant Gis, came jogging up. A career soldier and long accustomed to the physical demands, his full combat load did little to sway his physique and stamina. The expression on his face spoke volumes alone without a single syllable uttered.

"You three think you're on a leisurely stroll?" He demanded of them.

"No, Sir!" The three Cadets responded in near unison.

"Then why do I hear chatter half a klick behind you? If you got time to waste talking, you got time better spent breathing and keeping pace. This is a simulated training environment. You are in hostile territory. Silence on all fronts unless I give you a directive otherwise! Is that clear?!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good...don't need any of my Cadets ending up like Saro, now do I?"

"No, Si-..." Digits, DZ, and Joker began to respond in protocol, all three immediately realizing the error of their ways. Had Gis overheard their conversation in their eager carelessness? How much of it had he heard? Before panic could set it at the very real possibility of an unintentional security leak that could implicate Commander Corr, the drill instructor allayed their fears to rest.

"Corr likes you three enough to trust you with his secrets. You all are the first three he's said two words to about that stuff since telling me decades ago...Take that however you want to. To me, that means you had better watch what you say, how you say it, and who you say it to before you get him, yourselves, and others into BIG dookie. You get me?"

"...yes, Sir,"

"Good...and I was serious 'bout putting a lid on it and bucking up. Double time, hop to it, go!"

Nearly a full day had come to pass for Vult since watching his...counterpart, for lack of a better term, meet a fitting end at tempting fate. As callous and cold as it may have seemed, he was detached at best over the graphic sight. War was horrific. Soldiers died. It was that much easier to get over with the amount of karma Saro had collected over the years. The Commander was not quite heartless enough to go on and say he deserved every bit of what he got...but when one poked the slorrbeast in the eye, the expected to get the horns, as the saying went.

Throughout the daylight hours, Vult kept his antenna sharp and rifle across his lap while attempting to get some rest. It wasn't deep by any stretch of the imagination, but sitting still for an hour here and there with his eyes closed did wonders on the body. The fantasy of hot food in his spooch, a warm bed, and security surrounded by his fellow squadmates once again battled off the pangs of hunger and exhaustion from core to extremities. He was alive and had come this far, no sense in giving up now.

As predicted shortly in the aftermath of the sniper's shot, several squads of Vortian regulars canvassed the area in short order. A lone Irken soldier was a rare occurrence. Empire tactics always deployed them in force with overwhelming numbers. Irken Elite, maybe not so numerous, but even they were deployed at the company level with now fewer than 100 at a time. Their assumption that Saro was not alone was not incorrect, but Vult made it a priority to be out of sight and out of mine. He watched from afar cautiously, tracking the soldiers' activity. Even at a distance within the confines of an abandoned apartment complex, much like most of Vort in the surrounding area, he could see the fear…the desperation…the pain etched into the worrisome lines of their faces.

Even as their enemy and aggressor, Vult understood why with his new freedoms as a Shadow Strikers operative granted by his PAK. These men and women…people just like him and his comrades…were fighting tooth and nail to oppose the Empire. They wanted nothing more than to live in peace and independent without the fear of tyrannical oppression. Corr had told him many things about the Vortian people's culture and history…even the most recent, darker times where the Empire was quick to bury a blade of betrayal to the hilt in their back. Only the softest of minds could not see the logic behind attacking a powerful ally unprovoked, the very same that thrust the Irken to the technological apex they now enjoyed. The Tallest _feared _the Vortian and their technological capabilities. All Empire tech was in some way stolen or based off of cutting-edge Vort tech, after all. A little research and reverse-engineering could turn the "mighty" Empire on its head in a matter of days with enough proverbial wires crossed. It was frightening at how…fervent the Irken blindly followed the Tallest, completely oblivious to such facts. Maybe being given these personal liberties and freedoms was not as great a gift after all. Then again, ignorance is bliss. Knowing what he does now, there is no way possible he could ever go back to being blindly loyal like so many before him.

As Vult fought off fatigue to the point of exhaustion to remain alert in enemy territory, the activity abuzz in the streets for what seemed like an eternity had come to pass. With no sight or sound of any additional Empire presence in the area, those searching returned to their various posts. Energy could not be wasted on chasing ghosts with the very real threat of being overrun by the invading Irken a mere dozen or so klicks away, they needed to remain at-the-ready. Excluded from those standing orders and given more operational freedom, however, was a very familiar face, yet a complete stranger in person to the Commander.

The man responsible for dropping Saro on the spot with a single, well-placed shot walked in tow to his mentor and commanding officer. With the swelling in his face going down and empty eye socket tended to medically, he looked worn and haggard, a living victim of war. Bloodstained and battered with no end in sight, surviving another day in this nightmarish hellscape of a world he once called home was a miracle worthy of praise on a day-to-day basis. Despite it all, through his excruciatingly painful wounds and hardships they faced in desperation...he could not even begin to imagine the righteous fury felt by Rub'Akho.

A man that had lost everything...his mate...his son...his home...all he had left was his life. A life he had dedicated to avenging those he cared deeply about even in their wake. It was their memorial that fueled him when his body screamed in protest for rest and sustenance. At times, he witnessed the infamous marksman among the Armada ranks lie in wait for days on end, stalking a single priority target like the master hunter and tracker. Chilling best described the cold, calculated nature Rub held about his morbid occupation. A job of necessity and desperation, it made sense to put his generations-long skills passed down from father to son for many years against an unyeilding foe that threatened everything they held dear.

He was honored despite the man's cryptic and sometimes backwards nature hailing from deep in the untamed southern hemisphere of Vort. In the short period of time since his completion of basic training and placed under Lieutenant 'Akho's command, he had learned so much to place him well above his peers. After all, he owed that diligent training and guidance to the steady shot that put down an enemy combatant at nearly 2 kilometers from an elevated position. Not an impossible shot, but a difficult one worthy of respect.

"Why are we still out here?"

"Because," Rub responded quietly, their species' unique, double-jointed legs and claws gripping the uneven surfaces of rubble to move about freely through the street. "...you and I both know better than to simply give up like everyone else did. There are more Irken nearby, I know it. You know it. Never do they travel alone unless they are Invaders. Your target vas in Elite garb. Seasoned veterans of var and very dangerous, they still travel in units. Something is not right, not this far behind the line. Ve are going to get to the bottom of it one vay or another."

"Okay, why are we checking the body again then? He's dead, I know he is. Dead people tend to not move, Rub...especially the ones that are shot cleanly in the head with a high-power rifle. Unless animals have been picking at it between now and then, half of his head should be splattered on the pavement. I put the crosshairs right where you've always told me to and gave the trigger a light, even squeeze."

"I know you did," the marksman answered, leaping over one last gap between larger masonry from a collapsed building before topping the berm, seeing the Irken Elite soldier sprawled out still where his protege had laid claim to his life with his rifle. "...a good, clean shot. As it should be, one shot, one kill. He vas dead before he hit the ground...unfortunate."

"Isn't it a good thing I killed him though? One less Irken, right?" He questioned of his mentor and superior officer, confused.

"Of course," the Lieutenant assured as the pair approached Saro's body, "...it is unfortunate he did not suffer. The Irken and all those loyal to it deserve every ounce of agony equal to the innocent blood they spill here."

Curious, but wary of his tone, the question lingered in the protege's mind.

"...wouldn't that make us no better to stoop to their level of atrocity? I am not saying we show them compassion, Lieutenant...not at all...just...mercy. They may not show our people any, but you see what we fight...who we fight. They care not the value of others' lives. They care not for our culture...our people. They simply do not care. If we don't care as well...then there is nothing to care about...nothing to fight for...and everything would be loss or fought for all the wrong reasons. As much as I hate the Irken for all they've done and continue to do to us and the universe beyond…I do not want to become anything like them…"

Honestly surprised with such a statement from a man that had several teeth smashed free of his face, others broken and chipped by a wrench-wielding Irken female, Rub was at a loss for words. Even more so after his second unfortunate run-in with the Empire's might in the form of a counter-sniper that nearly took his life, surely he would understand his plight…his rage…his fury for the Emerald Tide.

Before the Lieutenant could begin to mouth a response, something unexpected happened.

A groan, weak and obviously labored with pain, immediately set the pair of Vortian snipers on high alert. Snapping to full attention with rifles grasped and at the ready, they searched the vicinity for the source. It could have possibly been the howling wind through destroyed husks of buildings accompanied by the soundtrack of distant firefights raging across the planet. That theory went right out the window as soon as a wheezing cough followed and something stirred…the Irken Elite's body made a vain attempt to move.

"…Mother of Vort," the lower-ranked of the two stammered in a combination of awe and horror. "…he's still alive…"

Rub's features twisted with barely-contained anger as he quickly approached the Irken's supine form. As he moved, his nearly-antique bolt-action rifle swung around on its sling to his back, his right hand freely drawing a razor-honed vibroblade from its sheath, his intentions clear.

"Not for long he isn't," he muttered, hovering over the body as his left hand unkindly grasped the invading alien's antenna, jerking his head up in preparation to slash his throat wide open.

"No, Rub, wait!"

The edge kissed his exposed neck in preparation to finish him; the blazing emerald gaze of the Spectre himself silently dared his compatriot to continue further. The Irken barely clung to life by appearences alone with thick, sticky, drying blood streaked down his face, an eye socket all but exposed with wrecked cybernetics. Rub saw as a spotter it was likely once some sort of ocular implant given the existing scars. His temple blown out with exposed bone fragments jutting from the exit wound…much like the man that nearly took his life, he suffered a similar, miraculous injury. Weakened from the trauma and ensuing bloodloss, the Irken Elite Captain was limp and unresisting in Rub's grasp.

"…we've never taken an Irken prisoner since this all began…Command is looking for anything to give us the edge over the Armada…something to push back with. Maybe he can be the source of it. Think about it…they always fight to the death, we have one clinging to life…I know he deserves it and more…but he's more useful to us…and our people as a whole alive. For all we know, we're holding the key to our victory over the Irken aggressors, Rub…I know it's asking for a lot…but spare this one. We need him alive."

It took every ounce of willpower the Lieutenant had left to not flay this Irken's throat wide open and let him bleed for the soil he so desperately tried to lay claim to in the name of his leaders. Waging a mental battle before arriving at the logical conclusion that his fellow man and understudy was right, Rub relaxed with a reluctant sigh, sheathing his knife as his other hand moved to the Irken Elite's collar and hauled him up. A big, strongly-built Vortian for his height of just past six feet, their prisoner's weight did little to inhibit him.

"Somehow I doubt he vill be very talkative," Rub commented as he forced Saro's wrists behind his back and procured a plastic quick-tie from one of his belt pouches. Forcing the loops over the Irken's gauntleted hands, he pulled the slack from both, effectively restraining their captive before pushing him forward to walk on his own power. "…no matter…he vill speak one vay or another. I pray that you do not come to regret sparing this disgusting creature's life."

"I understand the consequences," he solemnly nodded to his mentor, grip tightening on his rifle. "…sooner we get back to our post, sooner we can radio Command and inform them of our find. Surprised no one else noticed it sooner."

"I'm not," Rub sneered, his glare burrowing into the back of the green-skinned head of the Irken Elite Captain before them. "...unconscious with a grievous wound…pretending to be dead vhile his bastardized technology of our people repaired and mended the damage done by your shot…our enemy is resilient and hardy. This is good to know…it means ve do not have to vorry about him expiring in captivity."

Unsure as to what the Lieutenant meant, he followed on nevertheless in silence. At times, even his own confusion was better left a mystery. The look in Rub's eyes…his tone of voice, body language, just how…tense and angry he had been in those short moments before narrowly stopping the execution of their current prisoner. He had a feeling all of his questions would soon be answered. With hope…many of their peoples' own hopes they clawed at for in survival.

"…if you expect me to betray my leaders…you are gravely mistaken," Saro commented, finding his voice, albeit dry and weak from his ordeal as he barely had the strength to stumble along on two feet. "…I fear no man…especially not some filthy, horned _bustrado_." He concluded in malice, going as far to accent with a Vortian curse in utterance as if to patronize them further. Despite his macabre appearance, a tooth-filled grin of malice, of defiance, spread across his face.

Something about this particular Irken Elite soldier was most…unsettling. In the short time the Empire had put forces planetside and laid waste to all that opposed them, he and Rub had seen many atrocities through their scopes…massacres of all scales, direct targeting of the civilian populous. With it came horrible stories of these acts witnessed first-hand. Blood-soaked nightmares torn straight from the pages of madness that no one should ever wish upon another sentient being under any circumstances.

He was snapped from his thoughts at the sound of Rub's rifle stock smashing unkindly into the back of the Irken's head. Unexpecting, he was sent to his knees and promptly face-first into the ground in agony, dazed from the heavy blow. The vision in his remaining functioning eye swam hazily through ringing as he writhed before finally succumbing to the darkness once more.

"Ironic you should say that, Irken scum…" Rub answered, his features stonily-set in deep-seeded rage clawing and scratching as it tried its damnedest to reach the surface. "…I am yet to meet a man that doesn't fear me. That sounds like a challenge."

Unceremoniously grabbing the Captain's collar, rifle slung across his back once again, Rub drug their prisoner-of-war. Thankfully, he would not have to listen to his jingoistic tripe for the remainder of the short jaunt back to their outpost a klick or so away. There, however, at least until Command decided what was to be done with their "precious cargo"…Rub would drag a conversation out of him one way or another.

"Captain…please…" Aero all but begged of her superior officer as she followed after Corr.

"First Sergeant, enough," He sighed in exasperation as he stopped in place, turning to face her. Things had not been all that upbeat as far as morale was concerned since the loss of Vult. What made it harder was those in sheer denial of the notion. He would be lying if he didn't say at least a small portion of his mind wasn't clinging to the remote possibility the Commander survived somehow. In the end, it mattered not. If he had made it through by some miracle, they would have heard from him by now. Going on two days with no signs of survival…accepting it may have been for the best.

"Corr, c'mon," She pleaded, forgoing pleasantries and respect of rank. If he wanted to get snippy and technical with her, she was taller. At least around the normal conscripts of the Armada, she was of a higher rank and respect by several inches…then again, she was a Shadow Striker and that went out the window the day she signed on. "…you and I both know he's still alive out there…somewhere…he's got to be. It's the Commander we're talking about here."

Sighing once more, the Captain turned to continue about his business with his squadmate in tow. Having made it back to relative safety at an Armada forward operating base hours ago, the unit had the opportunity to get warm food in their spooches and much-needed rest. With the grim mission report tended to, Corr had earned a little downtime himself. He was going to need it for certain now as the Commander's responsibilities were thrust upon his shoulders. Fresh in memory, they already felt unbearably heavy.

"I never said that wasn't a possibility," he reluctantly acknowledged the underlying truth in Aero's words. "...but Supreme Commander Grimm is not a man of patience. Our commanding officer is missing and last seen buried beneath a collapsed building. Stalling on my behalf will not be kindly accepted. I am doing what I can, but it may be for the best to...accept it...as difficult as it may be."

"So because someone else is too impatient, we're just gonna throw away his life and move on, just like that?" She huffed, not liking what she was hearing. It wasn't Corr's fault, but damn it, the situation was frustrating. "...I guarantee you each and everyone of us is willing to go back out there and look for him. I don't care how long it takes or what we have to go through to find him...but its worth it. Maybe not to Grimm...maybe not to the Tallest...but to you...to me...and everyone else, it is. Captain...please...do what you can to _not _file that report. The moment you do...we're back on assignment elsewhere...and abandoning Vult. You don't want that, neither do I. Irk, none of us do."

"Our hands are tired...orders are orders," Corr reluctantly admitted. "We both know what happens to soldiers that disobey orders. I don't want to risk that with any of you, even with our elevated position in the grand scheme of things."

"If the Tallest told us to go jump off a bridge or, oh, I don't know, murder unarmed civilians like that _vodeto _Saro...would you follow those orders blindly like any other good little drone?"

With his helmet clutched in one hand, his other smoothed back his typical, barbed antenna synonymous with males of their species. She was persistant, that much he could respect of her and saw why she was worthy of standing side-by-side with him and the others. A master of her assigned duties and trade of mechanics, she refused to simply accept fate. If there was an alternative to a terrible situation, she would pursue it no matter what. Corr had a feeling even if he told her to drop the matter and forget about it entirely, she would disobey him just as she had done before as an Imperial Trooper. Risking her deactivation was not on his to-do list in the slightest.

"...I will do what I can to stall for time," the Captain finally spoke, quick to quell any optimistic outburst from the overly-cheerful Aero. "but...I promise nothing will come of it. If I can buy the Commander time, if he's still out there and alive, to make it back to us, I will do what I can. Until then, you need to get food in you and some rest. I'm sure we'll need in in the near future."

Merely smiling, she stepped forward and leaned down ever-so-slightly to give her superior officer a small hug. A sign of trust and affection, or so she had learned through Sula...and the emotional and chemical reactions of the brain that spurred the inspiration to do such things. Tak nearly killing her and messing her PAK up had done her a world of wonders, opening her eyes up to a whole other facet of life the Empire shielded them from.

"Likewise to you, Sir," She answered in releasing the somewhat confused Corr.

Hours passed, the last ember of daylight fading over the horizon as night fell into encompassing darkness. Raging infernos across the city as far as Rub could see illuminated the surrounding area for several blocks. Bursts of anti-aircraft fire dotted the star-filled sky as the defending Vortian fought tooth-and-nail for their right to exist and remain independent upon their homeworld against the Irken invaders. Despite their valiant efforts and the staggering losses suffered by the Armada, they pressed the attack like the flesh-and-blood robotic slaves to their "Almighty" Tallest.

Their presence desecrated the beauty of technological apex and urban sprawl. They laid waste to all before them, destroying centuries upon centuries of history, culture, and ideology. Every moment that passed as Irken boots marched to the drums of war, more and more of Vort suffered in a slow, antagonizing death. To most, it shattered morale and instilled panic and fear en masse. This was the beginning of the end. All that awaited them once the Empire ruled over them was a future of enslavement and servitude to an undeserving "superior" species.

Most...not all. To some, it was motivation to fight like they had never fought before. It was amazing what could be accomplished when faced with an ultimatum of survival over annihilation. Rather than roll over and submissively accept defeat, they struggled to the last man and the last round. Vort would outlast the Emerald Tide or die trying. There would be no other alternative. Rub, the infamous "Spectre of Vengeance" among the Irken ranks and a battlefield hero of seemingly supernatural proportions by word-of-mouth alone, was one such individual. The pains of loss...his peoples' suffering...the destruction of all they knew before their very eyes, did not corrupt the marksman. It did not weaken his resolve. It hardened his nerves to unbreakable steel, stoking the motivating fires of retribution.

The Empire and its leaders would pay for all they had done in blood. He would see to that becoming a reality before he drew his final breath. It was better to die free and fighting for a worthy cause than to live a subservient coward to an autonomous race such as the Irken. One day...their people would flee in terror, their planet drenched in emerald blood as the rivers ran over their banks with it.

For now, however...one step at a time. To endure, to outlast, and overcome was of the highest priority. Their people needed some advantage, an edge over the Irken. Their superior numbers and stolen, modified technologies surpassed even the most cutting-edge at the Vortian military's disposal. A race bred for war with peaceful means turned into war machines, they were still reeling from their ingenious blows.

Rub intended to do more than simply endure their transgressions.

"Vake up."

No response from his "guest". Furrowing his brow in a mixture of agitation and anger, the Vortian sniper brought his right hand back and crisply brought the back of it across the unconscious Irken's face with a resounding smack of flesh.

"I said vake up!"

Grimacing from the sting and sharp turn of his hanging head, Saro groaned as he blearily came to once again. Blinking his remaining eye several times as the room came in and out of focus, he finally pushed through the haze to see the sturdily-built, horned man standing before him. Right away he felt things amiss with a constant discomfort in his shoulders and arms. His booted feet hung helplessly just inches off of the ground, bound at the wrists and suspended by the ligature. This posture was obviously less for restraint and more to cause discomfort to the captured as his full body weight bore down on his shoulder sockets and twisted arms.

"Good...I vas beginning to think you vere already dead," Rub chided as the Irken showed signs of life once more.

Gritting his teeth through seething breath, Saro attempted to alleviate the stress on his joints in effectively being strung up like an animal fit for slaughter. Unpleasant mental depictions of his demise quickly flooded his subconscious. Flayed alive by a disgusting, horned creature in a hovel of a dank, dark building…a fitting end for anything _but _an Irken. He flexed three digits apiece on both his hands, trying to loosen his bindings to no avail.

"Struggling only makes it vorse. If you vant to dislocate every joint in your arms, by all means continue."

"…whatever it is that you want from me, you will not get it," Saro hissed with malice, remaining defiant as he struggled in vain to free himself. His movements only intensified the pain on his taught muscles. "Your kind physically sickens me, your appearance repulsive…you should be _begging_ for the Tallest's mercy for even thinking to spare your people and this wretched rock."

Rub lunged forward, seizing his captive's jaw with a single hand, clutching it powerfully as he forced his partial maroon gaze to lock with the Vortian's own blazing emerald.

"The only one that should be begging for anything should be YOU for your life!" Rub snarled, only to reel as Saro spat in his face. A smug laugh followed soon thereafter as the Lieutenant wiped at his eye with the back of his hand.

"…do you have ANY idea who I am, freak?" The Irken Elite Captain sinisterly spoke with emphasis dripping from every syllable. His injured, grotesque appearance didn't help matters any. Bruised, battered, and bloodied with half of his face blown off from a well-placed, yet unfortunately inaccurate shot and strung up like a demonic marionette, he flashed a grin of pure malice. "…there are many like me, but none exact. Your people cower in fear at my name. The sight of me alone sends them scattering in panic fueled by pure fear. Hundreds…no…_thousands_ of your kind have fallen before me. Mass, unmarked graves across this planet are full to the brim thanks to my selfless duty to the Empire. Your pathetic military offers little resistance…men…women…children…they all bleed the same in the end. I will grind all who resist the Empire and the Almighty Tallest beneath my heel into dust where they belong to grovel!"

As if trying to lunge hard enough to break his restraints, Saro's body quivered with force as he attempted to get to Rub, growling with effort, dark intention visible in his eye and etched into his damaged face.

"I am Captain Saro of the Irken Elite! The Vortian Nightmare! Kill me or release me at once! I will not listen to your drivel!"

His outburst earned him a solid punch into his jaw. Unable to block or avoid such a powerful strike, he grunted in pain as his arms held him aloft still, immediately tasting thick, emerald blood from his throbbing maw. This Vort hit quite a bit harder than Vult had what seemed like an eternity ago. For once in his entire life…he actually missed the man's company and all his faults in being soft-headed and a bleeding heart.

"Should I be impressed by your acts of atrocity? Do you expect me to run and cower like those you terrorize?" Rub antagonized him of, watching Saro spit a dribbling mouthful of blood on the concrete floor with a splat. "I am vell avare of who you are, Saro…I know vhat you've done…you should be grateful you still draw breath under your own power this long. I should eviscerate you vhere you hang and string you up by your entrails to even come close to a deserving fate of vhat you've done to my people."

The Captain pressed his luck with a dark chuckle, huffing.

"Then why don't you? I'm right here…helpless…vulnerable…just like all those children I slaughtered in front of their mothers…I deserve the same treatment, right?"

The sniper narrowed his steel-hardened glare, clenching his fists so tight to pop and crack his knuckles in an effort to stay his hands.

"…because you are unfortunately vorth more to our efforts alive than dead…for now. My superiors vill be shortly avare of your capture in due time. I made certain your allies vould not hear of your capture over the radio by sending a runner instead. I am sure you have many interesting things to share."

A prisoner of war? Him? They intended to interrogate him, to make him turn against those he so faithfully served? Never! Not in a million years! With renewed vigor, Saro struggled against his ligatures, seething in a combination of rage and pain.

"Your leaders waste their breath just like you do now. I'd rather DIE than betray my Tallest! Vort WILL be ours! Do your worst, I'll never talk! NEVER!"

Rub ignored the angry Irken's outburst as he retrieved a particular instrument off of a nearby table. A simple tool by appearances, a baton, even. Standard-issue to law enforcement officers and military police. Collapsible, lightweight, and sturdy, the Vortian gave a flick of his wrist, extending the contraption to its full length of a foot and a half or so.

"Fortunate for you I have nothing but time and patience then, Irken," Rub plainly spoke with ulterior motive underlying in his tone. "…it vill be hours before my runner returns vith news on vhat to do vith you…plenty of time for me…for Ora…for Mur…and all the blood that stains your hands."

Depressing a button on the baton, an obviously-tampered mechanism arched electricity from tip to handle, illuminating the darkened room. His dark gaze travelled from the baton up to Saro's eyes. For a moment, he saw the flash of uncertainty…of fear…the very same things he terrorized his people into doing.

"Command vill vant you alive…they did not specify your condition…"


	24. Shared Fate

"So who you think's gonna replace the Commander?" Haxx unceremoniously questioned as he lay on his bunk in shared barracks with his unit as his attention was occupied with a simple ball...one not unlike the very same Aero returned to a scared Vortian child days ago. Unintended or not, his honest question and behavior came across as callous and uncaring.

"No one's replacing anyone," Aero quickly defended as she cleaned her rifle, sitting on her cot across the narrow aisle in the tent. "Even if he's really gone like you all are so quick to believe, NO ONE can replace him."

"...you really believe that?" The Heavy Weapons Sergeant scoffed in disbelief as he idly tossed the ball up and down towards the ceiling. "Aero, we're all expendable. You should know that by now, Irk, more than any of us. You were on the chopping block for deactivation before bumping into the Commander. Face it...The Tallest and anyone else in charge could care less about the Commander's well-being. They'll see we have a vacancy and it will be filled by some smeet-brained rookie fresh off of Devastis...that or maybe Corr can sweet-talk the Tallest to take up the slack with a promotion. Either way, we're getting fresh meat in the near future...get used to it."

Finishing with the last component of her rifle as she slammed it home unnecessarily hard, Aero set her rifle against the railing of her bunk. Standing to her feet with purpose, she marched over to Haxx and snatched the small, round toy out of the air with a pointed glare down on him. The nerve of him to speak in such a manner about their leader after all he had done for them.

"No...No, I will NOT get used to it," Aero matter-of-factly spoke, the surprisingly-cheerful demeanor gone in favor of eyes narrowed to venomous slits. "You won't either...none of us will. Since when do we give up on anything, huh? You've never gave up on a mission, why give up on your commanding officer?! Did you see him die?"

Blinking, Haxx was somewhat at a loss of words. Sure, Aero had been...emotional...moody, even with her damaged PAK. Raging hormones and rapid transformation of her physical appearance had done a number on her psychological outlook on life. Sula said it was natural and tended to happen with shifting chemical balances of the brain...whatever that meant.

Right now, however, he was trying to make sense of Aero's fervent defense of a man that had a building all but fall on top of him. How on Irk could anyone think him to survive that? Sure, Vult was tough...but not that tough. Tak nearly done him in just a few short weeks prior. A single Janitorial Dr-..._Invader _of all things. Was it so wrong of him to believe the physics of an _entire _building crashing atop him would put an end to his life?

"Well...no, I didn-"

"Then how can you be so damn sure that he died?!" She demanded, clenching her hand tightly around the ball until it trembled with frustration and anger. "How would you feel if we abandoned YOU, hmm? How would you feel if we left YOU behind enemy lines, on your own, and without any way to reach friendly forces?"

Just as Haxx opened his mouth in a vain attempt to defend himself, Aero cut him off once more with her verbal lashing. For someone that was normally friendly, approachable, and outgoing, she channeled aggression and intimidation quite easily.

"You'd hate it with the force of a thousand suns...you'd feel betrayed, cast out, and neglected. You'd want to know why your supposed allies and friends didn't come to your rescue or made an attempt to meet you halfway. THAT is how Vult will feel if he's alive out there somewhere if we don't try to find him. Some how, some way, anything is better than nothing...even if it means just waiting for him...it's still something."

A wave of humility and embarrassment washed over the Heavy Weapons Sergeant's mind. It showed in his visage as he adverted his gaze from Aero's judgmental, blazing glare. She had more than simply a valid point...she was right. He would have felt equally as helpless in a situation such as Vult's...if he were in fact alive, of course. Come to think of it...rarely was there ever a moment he honestly doubted the Commander's capabilities. All their knowledge and training that turned them into the elite of the elite had originated from him through guidance and research. Maybe what Aero spoke of wasn't that far-fetched or in denial after all.

"...you still wanna just keep moving forward and leave him in the dust or you want to put on the brakes for just a little while longer and hold out on the possibility that he's alive out there and may find his way back yet?" Aero pursued of her comrade. She didn't hate Haxx. He was certainly annoying at times and his cold, hard logic was not unfound, but it wasn't right...it wasn't their way...the Shadow Striker way, to simply give up on one another like that. Until there was undeniable proof that Vult was KIA, she clung to the notion he was alive out there somewhere. How well was up for debate, but even so...alive and wounded was better than dead.

"There a problem in here?" Corr's calm voice queried as he entered the tent with Lieutenant Volx in tow.

Huffing with an agitated sigh as she unkindly tossed the ball back at Haxx with unnecessary force for him to catch. Rather than cause conflict in such troubling times that would do nothing more than fracture them further apart as a unit, the Heavy Weapons Sergeant merely accepted her verbal wrath and stinging throw into his chest for the time being. Squabbling amongst themselves wasn't going to solve anything.

"No, Sir...there isn't. Just having a...discussion with Sergeant Haxx is all," She respectively responded despite her teeming emotions beneath the surface. "...may I ask how your report to Supreme Commander Grimm went?"

Sighing, Corr brought his forearm up to rub his forehead in exasperation. Speaking to their superior officer and commander of all Irken Elite across the Armada had been quite the challenge. It came across as failure for such an elite-trained unit given special privileges to lose its commander in combat. Having witnessed Grimm decapitate a soldier for merely breaking a mirror, it spoke volumes of what he thought of failure. Even he was not so dense to take notice to the fuming rage at their disgrace as soldiers. Grimm was a demanding man of perfection...something Corr and his comrades had been anything but with Vult's unknown status.

"He was not exactly what you would call "understanding"," the Captain went on to explain with the fresh and frankly frustrating memories at the forefront of his mind. "...we have until 0600 tomorrow morning before we're picking up and moving out. I already have our orders...but when the forward operating base packs it in, we're due for redeployment in at Dinar Pass at the foot of the Shalashaska mountain range. Command...Grimm wants us to go in and soften it up before the main assault begins, just like on Praxxus 7."

Both Haxx and Aero blinked in disbelief.

"...That's halfway on the other side of the _ikveda_ planet!" He finally broke the awkward silence, seeming to feel the infectious, collective opinion about Vult's fate. "...lemme guess...orders are orders?"

"Unfortunately," Corr reluctantly admitted, Volx giving an agreeing nod. "If the Commander doesn't return by sunrise tomorrow...well...I needn't say more. We all know what it means."

"Thought so," Haxx huffed with a scowl of displeasure. "...so we going to get a replacement if that happens? You going to get a promotion, Captain?"

"Check yourself, Sergeant," Volx hissed at his attitude within his aggravated tones. "...The Captain's not your enemy, none of us are. We're soldiers. Soldiers die. It's part of the job, a risk that comes with the territory. We may not have chose to be soldiers beneath the Empire, but we DID choose to be soldiers beneath the Commander. You chose this, Haxx...live it and shut your mouth. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, _Lieutenant_," The Heavy Weapons specialist glowered, seeing how quick someone he had carted around out of the kindness of his heart was to remain cold, distant, and pull rank. "You needn't worry...I'm a good, little soldier. Grimm...Corr...you...anyone taller than me asks me to jump, I ask how high. I just remember the oath we took when we signed on with Vult is all...I know where my loyalties lie...maybe you two should look in a mirror and ask yourselves the same before we get carted off to battle again. I'd follow the Commander to the ends of the universe and back without question...you two...I dunno anymore." He concluded with a shake of his head before turning about to depart through the other end of the tent.

"Sergeant!" Volx called after him, quite visibly upset at his sheer lack of respect for superior officers. She made to follow and give him a good tongue lashing for such disrespect only to have Corr grasp her shoulder. Garnering her attention and stopping in place, she turned to look at the Captain.

"Sir?"

"Let him be, Volx...he's just upset about the Commander...just doing our jobs is going to make us out to be the bad guys for the time being. It's that or we _all_ suffer the same fate for disobedience and dereliction of duty. I shouldn't have to explain the punishment for that. He'll realize that as soon as he has a chance to calm down and clear his head." Corr explained, allowing his hand to fall to his side once again. "...we're all exhausted and hungry with nerves frayed over all of this...everyone just needs a little space and down time...you included, Lieutenant."

Reluctantly, she nodded, realizing the error of her words. Of course she was grateful for Haxx's selfless actions in the field. They may not have always saw eye-to-eye on many things, but he was still a competent, reliable, and loyal individual she could entrust with her life. Flaws and all...Haxx was a good soldier and great friend. She was honored to know him, but would never admit such out loud to him. His ego would most certainly flare when unneeded. He could stand to learn a lesson or three in humility.

"I-...yes, Captain...my apologies."

"Just standing by your principles, no need to apologize...but it wouldn't hurt to have a little heart-to-heart with Haxx before we head out to Dinar Pass. This is difficult enough as it is, last thing any of us need is discontent in the ranks."

"Of course, Sir...as you wish," Volx acknowledged with a small inclination of her head. She snapped off a crisp salute before turning about to continue with her duties. "...Captain?"

"Yes?" Corr turned at her heeding. "What is it?"

"...permission to speak freely and off-the-record?"

"Of course, Volx. We've always had an open-door policy with everyone. Speak your mind."

Relaxing somewhat with a small sigh, her oily black gaze shifted towards the ground briefly before finding her commanding officer's once again.

"...do you really believe the Commander to be alive...or are you just trying to keep morale up through distraction and optimism? Optimism is good in moderation...but it will only crush them if they find the reality is something other than what they desire to hear. I would rather be hated now for telling the truth than forever for taking advantage of their trust in your guidance."

Corr swallowed as he carefully contemplated her words. She had a point in her cold, logical approach to everything. Maybe they were all caught up in the possibility rather than the likelihood that the Commander was still alive…that Vult was on his way back to them as they spoke. The grim reality of the matter, however…told a different tale. With the odds stacked against him and no sound or sight of his state of well-being, it was difficult to not lean towards a more tragic view.

"…About as much as you likely do, Lieutenant…knowing Vult…it is going to take a lot more than being caught out on his own behind enemy lines to stop him…if he is even alive still. Come tomorrow morning…it won't matter, either way. We got a trip booked for Dinar Pass courtesy of the Armada. I hope the Commander can join us…otherwise I can only hope to be a fraction of the leader he is and steer us in the right direction."

As Corr and company reluctantly prepared for their eventual departure on yet another assignment in the "glory" of the Empire, the man in question endured the elements in the face of possible capture. Vult was no stranger to increased risks and odds not in his favor. Such came with the territory of special operations. The only thing separating him and his unit from Spec Ops was the simple sworn fact of secrecy. The Tallest wanted complete and utter confidentiality of their work. The regular ranks were oblivious to their actions. He was yet to understand the reason why for such a need. Ethically questionable through newly-opened eyes thanks to his security clearance and PAK modifications, all Vult could logically see them as was a glorified Spec Ops unit cut off from any and all support unless the mission dictated otherwise. Call it whatever it may be, but the Commander relied on his instincts if thinking something was amiss with. He couldn't quite place a finger on it, but their creation and purpose surely served some sort of long-term benefit to the Tallest.

Leaving the existential topic of debate in favor of focusing on the present, the Commander had taken refuge for the daytime hours. Rest came surprisingly easy for a soldier in the middle of a battlefield. Weary in both mind and body with dwindling supplies and avoiding capture at all cost, even sleep needed to be forgone if he expected to make it back alive. Every minute he was away from his squadmates behind enemy lines was one more minute the Armada would quickly consider him KIA To think of how simple it would have been to refer to the grand database of Irken PAK encoding that was kept and notice his still had life signs and possibly even track its location would have been grand...but unnecessary given the Empire's doctrine of expendability. Their species could be cloned by the thousands at a moment's notice, numbers continually replenished and remaining constant. Population control perfected at the cost of personal freedom and genetic alteration into a shell of their former species.

A special forces operator in his element, Vult did not let Saro's violent, sudden demise deter him. If anything, it offered insight into a future reward. With what intelligence the Empire had gathered upon their former Vortian allies, the Commander knew protocol and doctrine inside and out of the Vortian Defense Force. Outposts were scattered and regular intervals as early-warning detectors at advancing enemy forces. They often were operated by units ranging anywhere from thirty soldiers to as few as two. Given the distance away from the front line and the fact Saro was put down by a rifle of high-power variety, it was safe to assume it was an outpost operated by snipers. Vortian sniper units operated in pairs, cross-trained in a variety of traits such as scouting, marksmanship, and spotting.

A wealth of knowledge stored away in his mind thanks to security clearence and rigorous hours of classroom instruction and guidance to his unit by knowing their adversaries, even then it was not the most important part.

Outposts were often part of an intricate communications network. Communications meant a sophisticated radio ripe for decryption and hacking to make contact with Corr or any of his other squadmates. The cost of Captain's Saro's life in exchange for estimating a line-of-sight and distance from the following report and echo seemed to be paying off in his favor. Of all Irken in the Armada in the universe and beyond if that were possible, Saro is the only candidate that Vult would think to suggest for such an trade. The Vortian military felt itself superior with a boost in morale and the Irken were no longer plagued by the worst of examples...then again, the Tallest cared little about public relations. All submitted or they were decimated. It was that simple.

Problem was, it was not simple. It never was and never will be.

Going off of the ingrained information at his disposal, Vult estimated the distance and trajectory vector. After evading the Vortian soldiers canvassing the area immediately after Saro's demise, he made it his sole purpose to find the outpost. It was his one last lifeline to surviving this unfortunate series of events.

One final piece to the proverbial puzzle fell squarely into place upon further inspection. By nightfall, Vult awoke to make a startling discovery after doubling back. It seemed during his hours of evasion and hiding during daylight hours that Saro's body had disappeared. The emerald bloodstain on the pavement had long dried, but his corpse nowhere to be found. Dead bodies tended to remain at rest, not rise among the living once more. Something was amiss. The Vortian regulars cared very little about Irken dead save for those directly in the paths of vehicles and mechs. Even then, they were simply ground into the pavement by wheels, treads ,and mechanical feet alike.

Night falling fast, giving the Commander peace of mind in his trained element, he moved silently and with purpose. Saro's body had not simply vanished nor was it destroyed. The blood may have long dried in the Vortian sun, but the discolored patches told a story. Smears and the signature clawed feet of the Vortian people indicated someone had inspected the body for sure, potentially even picking it up. The question remained...why? Why would they even bother with an Irken corpse in the first place? His subconscious curiosity was quickly satisfied just a few short yards away.

Like the parent patch of thick, viscous emerald that had hardened and dried, a splotch of Irken blood clearly impressed in the form of an Irken Elite boot. A footstep given the weight and dispersion. Saro was easily the only Irken Elite soldier within several klicks and possibly further. The pieces began to fall into place as Vult made sense of it all. Like a light coming on as so many referred to the notion of an epiphany, the Commander pressed on with his focus squarely on the ground mere feet before him.

Saro was alive...or at least he had been long enough to pick himself up and walk some short distance. Given the presence of Vortian prints, it was safe to assume the Irken Elite Captain had been taken prisoner...or executed and his body dumped elsewhere. Either way, the thin trail of emerald droplets and fresh drag marks through the dirt and dust were more than telling. How he survived a gunshot wound to the head was beyond the Commander. Somehow, he had...and somehow he needed to make a faithful effort at locating the Captain against better judgement.

Tracking Saro's dried blood trail just so happen to lead in the direction of his ballistics hypothesis. Maybe the communications outpost operators were the same ones responsible for shooting the Irken Elite Captain. Maybe they were the ones who found Saro alive and "relocated" him elsewhere in their custody. Vult intended to find out one way or the other...or at least make an effort to. If Saro happened to have expired despite his blind luck in betting against fate, there would be no tears shed on the Commander's behalf.

Wary to not prevent himself a target and next tic mark to another marksman's body count in his approach, Vult stuck to the darkest of shadows. Staying off of the street as much as possible ensured as much. He would not be a daring fool like Saro had been and earned his fate as a prisoner of war...or death. Either was fitting for his overconfidence in nearly compromising them both. There was very few individuals in the entire universe Vult wished ill-will upon. Saro happened to not only make that short list, but be at the very top of it.

Despite it all...despite Saro's sadistic nature that gave competent solders and leaders a bad reputation...his sheer disrespect for other sentient beings, his allies included...and stupidly blind loyalty to the "infallible" Empire...Vult would not abandon him. Even if the Irken Elite Captain would never in a million years do the same for him if their roles were reversed...he would still have made an attempt to rescue Saro's life.

A small part of him hoped he wasn't too late. He certainly could use the extra set of eyes and antenna to watch one another's back. For now, Vult focused more on gaining access to functioning communications and less the fate of a man he believed dead already for over a day. Priorities were a cold and logical thing after all.

Deep within the dead of nightfall on war-torn Vort, the displaced Commander finally arrived at what he believed to be the likely destination. Saro's blood trail had long stopped thanks to PAK healing and clotting of his wounds, but trajectory, minute-of-angle, and acoustics of the shot that he believed to kill Saro at the time surely came from this area. Much of the surrounding area was ravaged by Deathwave Cannon volleys...precision artillery strikes to "soften" up enemy emplacements. They nearly leveled the region with a sparse few structures left untouched. Even fewer were safe to traverse at risk of a complete collapse. Smoldering ruins still swirled lazily with smoke as glowering embers of the fires of war gasped for fuel.

Silently stalking with a quick spot check of the surrounding area to ensure he wasn't being lined up in someone else's crosshairs, Vult purposely looped around and back to the corner structure. Patience was a virtue of the soldier's mind. Caution often kept one alive even in the most trying of circumstances.

The building itself was a mid-sized skyscraper in a residential block, likely a former apartment complex or low-density office building. A place of business or leisure before the war, now neither. A hollowed-out husk of its former self, much like the rest of Vort amidst the roiling carnage the Empire rained down upon the peaceful planet prior to their shattered alliance. Laying waste to their former ally was like twisting the knife buried in the betrayed's back as far as the rest of the universe was concerned. It did not earn the Empire or the Irken people any sympathy for their losses incurred. Vult was inclined to agree despite contributing a small part to the much larger problem.

Creeping along, he finally gained access through a crumbling wall into the darkened interior. Barely able to see a few feet in front of him under the cover of night in a structure without power, it was times like these he missed his advanced optical equipment and other assorted technologies installed in his helmet. Relying on them like a crutch produced avoidable weaknesses, but using them to one's advantage. At times like these, he would not have complained in the slightest to have them at his disposal.

Going off of intuition, Vult decided to descend deeper into the building. If this was in fact the location of the sniper that seemingly killed Saro, they would be elevated on one of the higher floors for a clear line of sight at farther distances. Weak and weary from a lack of rest and food, the last thing he desired was a disadvantageous fight if it could be avoided. Finding supplies and a means to establish contact with allies was a priority, not fighting the enemy. Lower on that short list of immediate objectives was finding Saro. Alive was yet to be determined, even with evidence he had stood from what was thought to be his final resting place and drug the rest of the way. That had been hours ago, after all...a lot could have happened since then.

He hoped these soldiers were of the predictable variety. They were likely frightened, paranoid, and exhausted between constant high-level stress and a lack of sleep. They would cling to their post and their radio equipment, prepared to alert their allies of Irken presence in their sector at the drop of a hat. If experience could lend itself to the scenario, they were fully prepared to outlast and endure the elements with a cache of supplies. Supplies ripe for the picking that could suddenly turn a crisis into a walk in the park for the displaced Commander. Keeping them hidden seemed most logical to ensure they weren't directly targeted.

As cautious steps descended further into the darkness via narrow staircase, Vult kept a hand to the wall for a point of reference. Heading for the basement in search of potentially valuable supplies hidden away by whatever forces were occupying the suspect overwatch outpost higher up the structure meant whatever ambient light succumbed to encompassing, pitch-black. The building above him groaned and cracked with settling dust and debris as it seemed on the verge of collapse. Unsettling did not even begin to describe it as deja vu became a nagging thought at the back of his mind. Tempting fate a second time under similar conditions was not a priority held by the Commander in the slightest.

The azure-eyed Irken's train of thought was violently interrupted as his next, careful step did no good in preventing a loss of traction. Whatever had settled on the floor of the basement of this building had made for a safety hazard to the unsuspecting. The stench alone led one to believe it was sewage or settled water that had began to grow microbial life. Losing traction, his foot slipped out from beneath him, with it, the rest of his body following suit in a vain attempt to retain balance.

Crashing to the concrete floor in seething pain elbow-first of his unarmed hand, Vult grit his teeth tightly to not make a sound in discomfort. Falling alone may have likely set off suspicions. Whatever the culprit was smelled atrocious and was somewhat viscous in nature as it clung to his uniform. Wary to not attract unnecessary attention, the Commander activated the tactical flashlight at the front of his procured rifle.

No sooner than light cast off of the suspect substance clinging to his uniform, he knew something was amiss. Dark green...viscous...atrocious smell...very few things in the galaxy held such attributes. A curious touch to his sleeve to test, he pulled his hand back, rubbing the coagulating, cooling liquid between forefinger and thumb. The overpowering aroma didn't need to be tested further, but Vult went a step further with a touching to his tongue to taste, immediately grimacing at the tart, copper qualities.

Not quite ready to jump to conclusions despite the obvious signs present, he tracked the mounted flashlight to the floor at his feet where he resided on the floor just moments before.

Blood. Irken blood. A lot of it at that. Dulled with a lack of oxygen, yet to dry, it was fresh enough to follow the source. Given the circumstances, there was a very select pool of individuals it could have belonged to. It didn't take long to confirm his suspicions.

The pooling blood gathered at a low spot of the concrete floor. Leading away from it were several feeding rivulets slowly flowing down the gentle grade towards where Vult stood. His rifle-mounted light source tracked the tendrils towards what was likely the source. Carefully stepping out of the macabre puddle, unable to avoid tracking fresh footprints, he quickly discovered the origin.

A short distance away, emerald blood dripped with faintly echoing pitter-patter in the darkness. Running in slow rivers over the exposed contours of green skin and supple flesh. Hanging limply by bound wrists and disturbingly dislocated shoulders at a rearward angle, his scarred body stripped free of all uniform and garments. Just visually checking, it was quite clear both of the Captain's legs were extensively shattered with a multitude of fractures. Grisly splotches of razor-sharp bone shards poked through in places. What skin that wasn't flayed open and freely bled, others coagulated and scabbing, was deeply bruised with contusions. His head hung limply with a missing antenna from the base, face badly swollen from what was likely a vicious beating like no other.

Vult had found Saro...for better or worse, unfortunately. He despised the man with every fiber of his being to the point of violence...but not to this extent...not to this extreme of a scale. Maybe surviving a gunshot wound to the head was not so fortunate after all.

Snapping himself from his shocked daze, Vult silently approached, tracking the light around Saro's suspended body. No traps or wires. Those manning the outpost seemed to have recovered Saro's surviving body and intended to interrogate him. This, however...this was pure torture. Even as an Irken, Vult knew the difference. Whoever did this wanted nothing but the Captain's suffering and nothing more.

For a moment, the Commander regretted showing a shred of compassion and mercy to their Vortian adversaries. They preached such separated them from the monsters that were the Irken and the Empire in their propaganda. However, he quickly remembered that the actions of the few did not speak for the many. The actions of the Empire as a whole did not speak for Vult or his unit...even the actions of Saro did not speak as a whole for the Empire. The same logic needed to be applied to the Vortian people and their efforts to defend their home against the Irken aggressors. Whoever did this acted on their own accord, not orders from a superior.

"Saro..." Vult whispered as he approached, gently resting a finger to his neck for a pulse. Surprisingly enough with his extensive injuries, one was present. A faint, weak, stubborn one fitting of the battered, but not broken man before him. "...Saro, you still with me?"

Blearily with summoned effort of waning strength, the Captain's remaining red, organic eye fluttered open. Vision blurred, blinking in a vain attempt to focus, the bound and beaten Saro struggled to lift his head. Under the cover of darkness and plagued by his injuries, all he saw was a foreboding form. The form of the filthy, horned freak that sought to break him. Never would he kneel before anything other than a taller Irken. Not even as he barely clung to a thread of life.

"...you'll...never break...me..." The bound and beaten Captain weakly uttered, refusing to accept his fate.

Slightly confused, Vult gave him a gentle shake before tipping his head up to meet eye-to-eye with the Commander.

"Saro, focus...it's me...Vult."

His senses cleared as consciousness began to greet him once more. That voice...familiar...annoying and rage-inducing at times, but familiar. Anything familiar, good or bad, was a welcome relief from his suffering. He knew that voice. Blinking rapidly to clear his washed-over eyesight, he finally saw who stood before him.

"V...Vult?" Saro huffed, uncertain of the authenticity of the situation. "...either they...captured you, too...or the Control Brains...have a sick sense of humor...in storage after death..."

A forceful shake from the Commander brought him to another level of alertness.

"No, I'm alive and so are you...unfortunately," he responded, his last bit muttered with a partial frown. "...Irk, what did they do to you?"

A humorless, potentially delirious laugh came from the restrained Captain.

"...anything and everything...they could think of," Saro huffed, strangely prideful of his ordeal. "...even then...I refused to talk. The more frustrated he grew...the more painful it became..."

Coughing with a seething intake of pained breath, he shuddered as his naked body trembled.

"...I'll give you the long version later...now...get me down...please."

Despite his ordeal and refusal to show any sign of weakness, Vult saw it in his eye. He all but screamed for rescue from his nightmarish ordeal. Even after all the atrocities Saro committed in the name of the Empire...all the pompous arrogance and disrespect of him and his unit...even the recent ordeal with the civilians before this all happened...he did not deserve this fate. Blood begets blood. Violence begets violence. Vult was not so cold or vindictive to leave a fellow Irken soldier, however morally bankrupt, to a long, slow, agonizing death at the hands of the enemy.

Nodding, the Commander secured the plundered rifle to his back as he knelt to retrieve the survival knife sheathed away in his boot. Always prepared and with a series of redundant back-ups for scenarios such as these, a simple, small combat knife of archaic design was a functional replacement for a multitude of tools in a survival situation.

"Just sit tight, I'll cut you down...don't go anywhere."

"...not...funny. I cannot...begin to describe the pain..."

"Relax, Saro...just give me a sec-"

"Look out!"

Surprised by Saro's raspy, strained voice summoning the strength to yell, the Commander stood quickly, turning around. Much to his dismay, a rather large Vortian soldier brandishing a drawn vibroblade was mid-lunge, green eyes glowering with rage in the gloom. The honed edge glistened as it caught the moonlight sifting in through a single streetside skylight, seeking to slice into supple flesh. With haste, the Commander spun about to meet his attacker, knife clutched tightly in hand as the Vortian soldier bellowed a battle cry. He leveled off his blade in a lateral slice, destined for Vult's throat. Narrowly avoiding the attack, leaving him to cut nothing but the air, Vult side-stepped away from Saro, not wanting to risk him being caught in the middle of their close-quarters encounter.

Once more, the blue-and-green clad Vortian went on the offensive, unperturbed by Vult's lightning-fast reflexes. More prepared for the follow-up attack, Vult stepped forward in preparation to disarm his opponent by wrapping his left arm around the Vortian's knife-wielding, outstretched limb. Much to his dismay, it seemed he wasn't the only one well-versed in close quarters combat.

The Vortian retained control of his vibroblade, snarling at the Irken's feeble attempt to free his ownership of his vibroblade. Physically overpowering the vain attempt, his arm remained rigid and untwisted as he stepped closer with a reared-back head and smashed the base of his bone-white horns into the Irken's forehead. Damaged helmet or not, the jarring impact was more than enough to daze the unsuspecting Vult as he reeled from the blow.

Seizing the provided opportunity, the Vortian pressed the attack with a following diagonal slash of his blade. Recovering at the risk of being flayed alive, Vult countered with a well-timed parry. The stolen technology of the vibroblade served the Empire well in resonating at the exact same frequency as the Vortian original, negating all superior cutting effects in a clang of steel against steel. Not to remain on the defensive the entire time and hope for the best, the Commander summoned his gauntlet-mounted plasma blade in a raging magenta glow that filled the room. Nearly caught-off guard by the sudden display of energetic lethality, the Vortian leaned away from a lateral slash of the heated, humming blade before summarizing his opinion in the form of a downward stab, directly into the emitter with an expression of pure malice.

The one advantage now fleeting, the Vortian's knife nearly touching flesh beneath his armored gauntlet and stuck in place between them, Vult struggled to pull his arm free to no avail. Using the pinned Irken's arm as leverage, the larger Vortian forcefully slammed his opponent's back into the wall, pressing him to it with mere inches separating their faces.

Their lethal dance of blades had come to a brief lull after mere seconds, allowing the attacking Vortian the first opportunity to get a good look at his Irken opposite. Not terribly tall...not short. Strange uniform to say the least...but something about it seemed...familiar. Between that and never seeing an Empire soldier move and fight in such a manner, there was something most certainly unorthodox about this man before him.

"…yes…you're different…not like the others," Rub hissed through narrowed eyes, keeping his attention placed on the weary, but alert azure glaring back at him. Having the size and strength advantage over an obviously exhausted opponent, direct resistance got Vult nowhere against him. "...but no matter...you vill bleed the same like the rest!"

Before Rub could make true on his threats, the crafty Commander managed enough leverage to maneuver the point of his blade in the opposite direction, ripe for a forceful stab. The short travel and intended target landed within a fraction of a second in deft hands. The blade sunk deep into Vortian thigh as flesh engulfed it up to the hilt. With it came a howl of pain as dark violet blood sprang forth immediately, deeply saturating the surrounding blue material of his uniform.

Releasing the buried knife in favor of escaping, the Commander's dash for freedom was cut short as Rub recovered on adrenaline alone. Pivoting with a sweep of Vult's feet, he pushed the Irken forward to land face-first onto the blood-slick concrete floor. Wind knocked from his spooch and already fatigued as it was, Vult quickly found the full body weight of the Vortian atop his sluggish body. A sharp jerk of his remaining antenna uncomfortably drew his head back, held in place as the razor-honed edge of Rub's vibroblade touched to his exposed throat.

So this was it...this was how it all ended. Uneventful and unexpected in the dimly lit basement of a ruined building on planet Vort at the hands of one of its defenders. For a brief moment, he wondered if he would be so quickly forgotten like many others of his kind that fell in battle. Irken lacked war heroes and the like, after all. No one was ever remembered for their accomplishments, let alone praised for them. It was their sworn duty, all expected, never given. His death would mean a simple signal sent back to the Control Brains to activate another cloned body and begin its path of servitude and false freedom. His replacement would assume command of his unit and likely tear it asunder by implementing the broken ways of old that he sought to escape.

At least it would be quick...at least he would finally obtain some much-needed rest. Either deactivation or storage on the servers awaited him. An artificial slumber until the next era in which he would be called upon in rotation. Reincarnation without a single memory of the prior life...doomed to endlessly repeat the madness that was serving the "glorious" Empire. Maybe deactivation wasn't so bad after all...

"Rub, stop! What are you doing?!" A new voice called out in disbelief as the figure dashed into the room. Another Vortian soldier given his silhouette in the darkness and gear adorning his body. Another marksman. So it seemed the larger of the two about to slice his throat wide open was one as well in a spotter-sniper team of two commonly seen in military doctrine across the universe.

Whatever they were, the second soldier's intrusion bought the Commander a few more precious seconds of life as Rub's knee dug deeper into his back.

"Vhat does it look like I'm doing?" He growled, tense with adrenaline flowing freely through his veins, doing his best to ignore the unbearable pain of the knife buried in his thick thigh. "I told you before they never vork alone...vhere you find one, you find more. I came back to check on our prisoner and found him attempting to free him...ve only need one of them alive." He concluded, making as if to finish off Vult once more.

"No, don't!" The recovering soldier a victim twice over to the very man's unit that Rub held restrained exclaimed as he lunged and gripped the larger Vortian's wrist in an attempt to stop him. "This is him! This is the one I told you about!"

Huffing as his body calmed, pulse slowing, mentally blocking out the pain of his bleeding leg, Rub looked at him incredulously while retaining a deathgrip on the Irken beneath him.

"Vhat? The one that hit you in the face vith the wrench?"

"No, not that one, the other one. That was a female anyway."

"The one that shot you?"

"Noooo," he growled in annoyance, insistently gesturing to the Commander. "Him...he's the one that spared me...let me go. Him and his unit, yeah...like...a squad of them dressed like that. The same ones that we saw at the fountain! Rub, he's the leader of them! Vorn...Veed...Vvv...Vult! Vult, yeah, that's it, Vult! That's what his subordinates called him! The ones that fought off an entire company with light armor support! We heard reports and sightings of his men and the Irken Elite company that took out the factory, too."

It all became very clear. So _this_ was one of those soldiers that they engaged in the fountain days prior. The strangely-dressed Spec Ops unit, so he had assumed. This Irken…this man led a small unit that wreaked unbelievable havoc upon the Vortian military's infrastructure…the lines shattered and collapsing…a primary manufacturing facility needed for the weapons of war…all gone in the blink of an eye because of this man and the actions of his unit. For a moment, Rub did not know whether to express blind rage and decapitate him with raw fury from his vibroblade or silently offer respect for a fellow soldier so skilled. If he were anything but Irken…anything but the genocidal monsters responsible for the devastation that consumed Vort like a plague of the apocalypse…he may very well have.

"If he is so dangerous…so valuable to the Empire…vhy shouldn't I kill him?" Rub leered at his subordinate as if doubting his intelligence. Logically, they would stand to benefit in eliminating such a threat from their proverbial scope entirely. "Irken or not, if he is so skilled at his trade, his unit vill continue the systematic slaughter of our people! Whose side are you fighting for, Sergeant?!"

"Our side!" He quickly defended, surprised even Rub would stoop so low as to doubt his allegiance to their cause. "Evil, heartless, cold and calculated as they may be, THIS one is different! THIS one spared my life, Rub! Ever since this all started…have you heard of ANY Irken soldiers showing compassion and mercy to our people, let alone anyone fighting them?"

Vult hesitantly cleared his throat, wary to not make any sudden movements with the angered marksman on his back and knife touching the bare skin of this throat.

"…your compatriot speaks the truth, Lieutenant," he calmly uttered, quickly shutting up as Rub pressed the sharpened edge harder to his neck.

"Shut your mouth," the Vortian hissed through grit teeth, "your vords fall on deaf ears, full of lies and betrayal. Your leaders stabbed my people in the back and sought to use our own technology against us…vhy in this life or the next should I even BEGIN to listen to vhat pointless pushing of air you have to offer?"

"Because would an Irken like me have his fair share of discrepancies with my leaders and often find himself questioning the morality of orders?" The subdued Commander calmly responded, mentally blocking the instinct to panic and retaliate with the vibroblade to his vulnerable throat. The pressure slackened ever-so-slightly. Progress worthy of being optimistic in the Vortian's silence. "...I will not pretend to understand the plight you and your people face or the reasons why my own felt it necessary to invade…I am just a soldier…a soldier like you. Soldiers follow orders. While you may face tribunal for dereliction of duty with a lengthy incarceration, my fate is decided the moment I stand by my beliefs in the face of authority. Is it wise to martyr myself for my cause that will fall on deaf antenna?"

"So you don't agree with your leaders and commanding officers," Rub spat, unimpressed despite his own mental considerations. "Vhy should I believe you? Vhy should I believe anything you have to say?"

Breathing deeply despite the crushing weight of a full-grown Vortian male atop his back, the Commander did not make any attempts to move.

"That is at your discretion. You can choose to or not to. You can choose to slit my throat and be done with it…or consider my words for the potential they may hold on others. Whatever it means to you, if anything at all, I will not report this location or encounter to my superiors…your outpost remains undetected. You are of no direct threat to my mission; all I want to do is return to my unit and provide the leadership they deserve. All I ask in return is I leave on my own volition and take the Captain with me." He added with a subtle nod towards the beaten, weary, and weakened Saro.

Emerald eyes laced with malice narrowed sharply at the tall request.

"Of all the despicable, disgusting soldiers that fill your ranks, he is one that is least deserving of compassion and mercy!" Rub made abundantly clear. "It is a miracle alone he still breathes…he should burn for vhat he's done…the atrocities he's committed in the name of your precious Empire!"

Vult did not hesitate to turn and look up at the glaring man pinning him to the floor, a single azure eye harshly contrasting green skin as he locked eyes with Rub.

"I assume that justified whatever it is that you were doing to him then?" The Commander retorted, his tone accusatory, but wary of his situation. "I will be the first to speak from experience what he is capable of…what he has done. I will not defend or justify it…but that does NOT justify what you have done to him. He deserved a quick and merciful death if anything in retribution…not this. It makes you no better than he…makes you no better than I…or the Empire you are so dedicated to eradicating from the face of the universe."

Pausing as he focused his attention back to the barely-conscious Irken Elite Captain dangling by his bound wrists and dislocated shoulders, he looked back to Rub.

"…you've made your point...even he would be wise to listen now with the life lesson he's been given in fate."

The Vortian sniper was at somewhat of a loss. Never before since the beginning of the invasion and his interactions with Irken soldiers had he spoken to one, let alone one so eloquently versed and less jingoistic and fanatical than he expected. He seemed strangely…normal, for lack of a better term. Not bloodthirsty, sadistic, and driven by oppression and servitude for those greater in stature.

"Rub…"

Turning to his apprentice and spotter, he kept the knife prepared in the event their second captive had a sudden change of heart.

"…he's right. About that guy…about everything…he's not like them, we can see that. He spared my life and you heard him, he's only doing as he's told or its certain death…not like he's enjoying it, right? Isn't it you that always told me to be wary of fighting monsters lest you become one? The moment we become monsters to fight monsters, the battle is lost, as is the war. Make things right…let him and the other one go."

The silence and building tension made Vult uneasy. He wished he could see the gears turning in the Lieutenant's head and what his next actions were to be. The end of his life may very well be mere moments away for all he knew. Thankfully, instead of a stroke of the blade, Rub addressed the concerns of his spotter.

"Vhat about Command? They are expecting a prisoner."

He shrugged with a weak huff.

"…make something up. I wouldn't be surprised if the Empire shuts them off remotely to prevent them from being compromised. Suicide pill or self-destruct button…plenty of blood here to make for a convincing story."

Rub weighed his options. What he spoke of was logical, however…the potentially vital information that could be gleaned from a live Irken captive was too good to pass up. However…now in the clarity after nearly exhausting himself beating the man nearly to death for hours, even now through the dull, throbbing pain of his bleeding thigh, knife still buried to the hilt…he had become the very thing he despised. He lost himself to vengeance, forsaking his morality in exchange for the blood of the wicked.

Slowly to not give the wrong impression to the Irken Commander beneath him, the Vortian sniper stood to his full height off of him, pulling his combat knife away from his exposed neck in the process. Clutching it firmly in the event he attempted anything after being granted freedom, his eyes warily tracked every subtle movement.

Picking himself up off the floor with a small grimace of disgust at the thick coating of cold blood clinging to the front of his uniform, Vult slowly turned to face Rub for the first time. He could see now under calmer circumstances why the man so easily overpowered him in their brief scuffle. Standing tall and broadly built, trim with muscle, he was a veteran soldier through-and-through.

"For your best interest, Irken…do not let my mercy be vasted. I vill not hesitate to kill you the next time ve meet again if you tempt fate again." Rub declared before grunting in pain as he wretched the knife free from his thigh. Vibrant violet blood flowed freely from the wound, further saturating his uniform as he unmindfully spun the blade around to hand to Vult handle-first. "…cut your ally down and leave at once."


End file.
